


Out For Blood

by shutupnerd



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Bickering, Blood, Complete, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Everyone Needs A Hug, Forbidden Love, Halloween, Happy Halloween, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Hinakoma - Freeform, Junko is Dead, Komahina - Freeform, Monster Hunters, Multi, Not Beta Read, Platonic HinaNami, Sharing a Bed, Slow Dancing, Trigger Warning: Alcohol, Vampire/Werewolf AU, Vampires, and he feels like shit about it, as a treat, because I have no self control, change, chiaki and hajime as best friends, i can have one cliche au, like obviously, longform, ryota is helping out komaeda, slowburn, sonia and nagito are related, there's a lot of blood, usual vampire and werewolf shenanigans, very komahina centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 48
Words: 116,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26697496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutupnerd/pseuds/shutupnerd
Summary: Hajime Hinata is a successful and accomplished monster hunter. The only issue is a strange bite on his left shoulder: an attack from a wolf that seemed just a bit too vicious to be normal. Aside from that, everything is going fine--until he gets sent out on a vampire hunt, where everything goes wrong all at once.Now trapped together in an old castle, it seems Hajime and Komaeda have a lot to learn about what makes a monster and what being human really means.
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito, Sonia Nevermind/Tanaka Gundham, nidai nekomaru/owari akane (background)
Comments: 1017
Kudos: 1965
Collections: scu





	1. teeth marks

The bar was quieter than normal, the thrum of conversation dulled to something like a quiet roar as Hajime took another swig. It didn’t do much, but anything to cut the pain in his shoulder would do for right now. The light of the lanterns swung lazily over him, almost in beat with Ibuki happily playing the piano in the corner. Akane took one look at the circles under his eyes and slid him another glass.

“Tough fight? You’re still covered in blood.”

He nodded mutely, downing the last of his liquor. His sword was still slung across his back, wiped far cleaner of blood than his face and hands. He’d washed them, of course, but beast blood was stubborn. It seemed the undersides of his nails especially would never fully be clean.

Nobody yet knew about the bite hidden under his shirt, save Chiaki, who got to him before he could hide it and deal with it himself.

“What even gave it to you?” she had asked, nearly shoving him into a chair and repurposing a tea kettle of hot water. She poured it into a bucket to wet a cloth and dab away the clotted, crusting blood, after she poured them both a cup and scattered the leaves in them. She shot him an apologetic look when he winced. “Please say just a wild animal. I know you were out fighting...something.”

“Hey-- _ ow-- _ go easy on it, please! The bastard bit deep,” he muttered, doing his best not to cringe away. His good arm rested against the table, his hand squeezing the life out of a leather glove. “A wolf went after the horse. Got a chunk of me in the process.” Lying through his teeth, but at least there was at least one truthful element. There had been a wolf. Even if it had been going straight for him, even if the horse had been tied to a tree a quarter mile away. Said wolf had an arrow through its heart. Said arrow was now cleaned off and hung over the door in it's quiver, next to a beaten-up crossbow. He hadn’t any idea why he had been the target, but saying it went after the horse made it easier on him.

“I thought the wolves weren’t supposed to be so bold this time of year?” She was gentler with her strokes of the rag now, the water bucket beside them quickly becoming discolored and rust-toned. She grabbed the candle and held it in her other hand as she worked, giving her a little more light to see what she was doing. It was late by now, the sun long gone behind the horizon. A low-hanging, heavy full moon had taken its place, shining coldly through the windows. 

Autumn was firmly in place now, the flowers dying and the leaves beginning to turn their familiar brilliant shades of red and yellow and orange. A cold breeze rattled against the window, but the inside of their house was warm, the firepit crackling away merrily. 

“Yeah, me too. Bastard got me good.”   
  


“He sure did. Is that why you’re still soaked in blood? I thought you were out hunting something.”

“There was nothing, except that wolf. Kept grabbing cattle. There might be a food shortage or something in the woods.”

“Huh. Good thing it was just a wolf, then,” she said dismissively, setting the candle down to grab the bandages. “God knows what we would have done if something else had bitten you.”

“Yeah.” He was glad she couldn’t see his face, then, pale and nervous. He was sweaty, too, but he would have just blamed it on pain and she probably would have believed him. 

Hajime didn’t like lying. He never had. He hated hiding things, especially from Chiaki. Not to mention, she usually was able to see right through him. But he finally had something he truly felt he needed to hide. That wolf hadn’t been normal. He knew that wolf wasn’t normal. 

All he could hope was that said wolf had just been sick, like he suspected. Sick and hungry and vicious. Because a sick wolf could be dealt with. A bite from a sick wolf could be cured. Yes. It was just sick.

And so, he had ended up here, walking to the tavern as soon as Chiaki had bandaged him up. 

“Ya know, I usually don’t see you here, Hajime. Especially not alone,” Akane said, turning around and beginning to collect empty glasses off the bar. “Was it really that rough?”

“It was a normal wolf, if you can believe it,” he replied, falsely casual. “Just vicious and hungry. Took a good-sized chunk out of my shoulder.”

“So that’s why you’re drinking right-handed, huh?”

“Yes.” His left shoulder  _ throbbed,  _ a new kind of pain he’d never even anticipated before. He could barely even move his arm without feeling like spikes were shooting down it. 

She shot him a side glance that could have been pitying, then started to clean off the glasses she’d gathered up. Despite the worn nature of the tavern, it was clean, dry, and warm, no matter the season--far more than what could be said of other bars he’d seen. Here none of the tables were sticky (at least, not for long) and the floor stayed swept and mopped. Their town wasn’t much, but they took pride in what they shared together. Nekomaru and Akane’s tavern was only one of many places like that. 

Nekomaru himself slid into a stool beside Hajime, sparing a wink to his wife before clapping Hajime on the back, millimeters away from where he had been bitten. He winced, his spine shooting straight.

“So, how goes huntin’, Hajime? Bring back anything good for us?”   
  


“Not this time, no,” he croaked, silently thanking God that he had put his drink down. “Just a pissed-off wolf. Did a number on my shoulder when it went after my horse.” 

He took the hint and retracted his hand. “Chiaki fix you up again? Mikan’s gotta be asleep by now.”

“Yeah. I’m seeing her in the morning.” (And he would. She’d balk at the severity of the wound and raise her voice at him for the first time since...well...ever, dousing it in alcohol, and then soap and water. He’d had to hold back from pushing her away, for how vigorously she cleaned it. He would try and push her back when she bandaged it so tightly he could barely move, only to get a veritable tongue-lashing from Mahiru, who shoved him right back down until Mikan was done.)

  
“That’s good. You’d better get fixed up quick, ya hear? We need you at your best.”

He smiled without any real mirth and downed his drink. “Definitely.”

-

The summons came from Sonia just under a month later. She was visibly worried when Hajime walked into her office. 

“Oh, Hajime. Thank goodness,” she said, gesturing for him to sit down. Despite the fire going, the room was cold. She rubbed at her arms as she paced nervously, far from the composed figure she normally was. Her hair had been messily braided back, strands escaping and falling into her face even as she brushed them away.

“What is it? What’s happened?”

She slumped into her chair, massaging her temples. “I hate to ask this of you. I know this is an unusual request for this town, we have failed to have even one report of this in over fifty years…”

“What’s here?” he asked worriedly, leaning forward and clasping his hands on his knees. “I’ve never seen you out of sorts like this, Sonia.” It was true. She was known for being absolutely unflappable, even in the worst and most ridiculous of circumstances. He’d never seen her this worried. It made him feel like he should perhaps be worried about what he was about to be asked.

She paused a moment before speaking again. 

“It would seem we have a vampire on our hands.”

His heart froze. She was right--that was something he’d never dealt with before. While he knew  _ how  _ to, of course he knew how to kill a vampire, it was always easier said than done. He’d had to stake and burn a fellow hunter’s body before--it was always a thoroughly sobering experience. Despite them looking human enough, they were vicious. He’d take a ghost or beast any day over having to kill a vampire. It wasn’t their physical abilities that made even the most experienced hunter balk. It was their years of experience in manipulation. 

He’d been hunting since he was fourteen, and he’d never once encountered a vampire.

The rule of thumb was to move fast. Kill it before it could start talking to you, because it would have you entirely under its spell in moments. And then you’d end up as dinner--your blood-drained body spiked and cremated. There was no grave for you when you lost to a vampire. 

If he lost tonight, there would only be a small pyre and a wreath on his door. 

“I understand if you do not take this--”

“Just tell me where.”

She looked up in shock, her mouth parted in surprise. “Truly?”

“This is my job, isn’t it?” he asked, full of a false bravado that rang with a sense of finality. “If I don’t deal with it, nobody else will--hell, nobody else can. Besides, having a vampire under my belt is something I’ve always kind of wanted. I’ll head out as soon as I can grab my tools.” It wasn’t as if he was convinced of his imminent demise, but he always had to pretend to be feeling far braver than he was before he left.

She sprang up from her desk, hugging him close. He had the breath knocked out of him for the suddenness and tightness of the embrace, but he returned it just as closely, unable to bear to tell her that this was likely to be their last hug. There was a lump in his throat when she finally let go and he had to do the same. 

“Bring me back a vampire head, Hajime! I believe in you!”

“I will.”

He closed the door behind him, trying to suppress the nerves building in his stomach. The worst part of hunting was when he had to leave. No actual goodbyes, no preparing them for the fact that he would likely not be coming home. He always had come home, but this was one where he wasn’t so sure he would.

Chiaki wasn’t home when he got back to the house. He wanted to at least be able to say goodbye to her. She was his closest friend, practically his sister at this point. They’d grown up together--her family had taken him in after something (he still didn’t know what. It hurt that he probably never would know.) had attacked his house when he was little, leaving him the only survivor. It made a sad sort of sense that he’d either die at the hands of a monster tonight, or he’d be bringing a head and a heart home. That was how it always was. Ironic.

He saddled his horse and left a small note for Chiaki. 

_ Off hunting. See you soon. _

_ Love, Hajime  _

His resolve strengthened as he began to ride away for the last time. If he was fated to die, it might as well be a death protecting his friends. It was going to be okay. And if he didn’t die, if he somehow survived this, he would have the satisfaction of knowing he could kill a vampire. That he was strong enough in mind and body to take one down in its own playing field.

He rode out of town for the last time, giving a silent goodbye and thanks to all his friends he was leaving behind for now. He could only protect what waited for him when he came back. 


	2. animal hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hajime arrives at the vampire's hideout--it's nearly sundown by now.

He had pushed to get to his destination as quickly as possible. But even at the quick pace he had taken, it was a day’s ride out. The sunlight was rapidly fading behind the trees as he approached what could only be described as a castle. It was crawling in old ivy, jutting up and stabbing the sky with stone and iron spires. At one point, it had been an important stronghold for kings of old, the sight of more battles than could be counted. But it had fallen into disuse and disrepair before even Hajime’s grandfather had been born, and so it had stood abandoned and undisturbed for years. It seemed their vampiric friend had taken it up in its emptiness. 

“Who’d want to live here?” he mumbled, tugging his cloak together around him. “Miles deep in the woods in a drafty old building? Well, I guess you take what you can get.” It was well isolated, probably impossible to get to on foot alone. Even the horse had struggled at some points. He gave her an apple and a friendly pat as he tied her to a tree. 

“I’ll be back, buddy. Just sit tight.” 

He shouldered his bag, a wooden stake gripped in a gloved hand with a lantern in the other. The sun was rapidly setting--he wouldn’t have much time before the vampire woke up. There was a lot of ground to cover and only him to do it. He sighed, shifted the weight off his still-hurt shoulder, and pushed the gates. They opened up easily, barely even needing a push before they swung to let him inside. Clearly, the vampire wasn’t afraid of visitors.

The courtyard was wild and overgrown, his breath misting in the air as he ran through it. There was no time to think about the rose bushes that were dead and sure to be frosted over by morning. The wind was just as frigid, blowing through his cloak and scarf and shirt. But he ignored the goosebumps raising under his sleeves and pushed inside, the wind dropping along with the sun. It was dark inside, lamps going unlit and firepits empty and ashen. 

All that was lit was a singular candle on a table, fat but short, as if it had been burning for a while already. It didn’t serve to ease his nerves. He pushed it from his mind and made his way carefully up the stairs, nearly tripping on the pitted and bent steps multiple times.

The second floor split into what looked to be a throne room, with two doors to each side of the (singular) throne on a pedestal. (There had initially been two. What had happened to the other, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Likely chopped up for firewood.) The rest of the room was filled with orange light from the setting sun.

He audibly sighed. Something told him (mostly the trembling nervousness in his gut and the throbbing in his shoulder that still hadn’t fully healed) that tonight wasn’t going to be as smooth as he’d once hoped.

“Might as well,” he grumbled, shoving the end of his scarf back over his shoulder and trundling his way to the first door. 

Nothing. Just a kitchen and an empty dining hall. There wasn’t even a knife set. 

His heart kept sinking as he pushed into the next set of rooms to find absolutely nothing. The air felt thicker and heavier as saw the sun begin to finally dip below the trees far too quickly. Tonight was going to be one to remember, for better or (more likely) for far worse. 

His heart nearly stopped entirely the first time he heard the other footsteps. 

He blew out the lantern and bundled himself into a nearby closet, watching frantically through a crack in the door, not daring to move. He felt his heart hammering in his chest, thumping relentlessly in his ears as he tried to calm down his breathing enough so that he was silent and immobile. A predator, not the terrified prey.

Hajime took everything he had thought before back.  _ This  _ was the worst part, the lying in wait. Everything could go wrong here. If he was caught here, he wouldn’t have enough time to properly defend himself. He’d be a bloodless husk before the night was out if he messed up and allowed himself to be caught.

The figure that passed the door was hazy and indistinct. A fluff of white hair, pale skin, and black clothing. Hajime didn’t look too closely, but the vampire at least appeared to be male. There wasn’t much more to say--he didn’t  _ want  _ to look more closely at what he was hunting. Part of what made hunting monsters so human so difficult is that they really did look just like you. If you weren’t fast enough, something deep would kick in--make it that much harder to finish it off. The door clicked shut behind him, and Hajime let out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding.

It was time to act. To strike before he could be struck down himself. Before someone else got hurt. 

A mistake newer hunters often made was announcing themselves before they attacked. It was always something about justice or peace or ridding the world of evil. Nine times out of ten, it got them mauled or killed. Surprise was their strongest ally, oft neglected by even the best when they got too cocky. One of Hajime’s greatest strengths was that he was quiet. He didn’t yell the words of righteousness or rage until he was already sure to win the fight. Even then, it seemed to be a bit overkill. 

He didn’t bother closing the second door when he slipped out, stake firmly gripped in his hand. His opponent was turned away, lighting his second fireplace. His back was entirely turned. This was his best and perhaps only chance to make this a clean death. 

The moon came out from behind the clouds, casting the room in silvery light. 

Hajime’s arm was raised over his head, the stake perfectly aimed at the vampire’s heart. This was going to be simple. He had been so worried over  _ nothing.  _

He stepped in front of a window. The moon shone on him in its full brilliance, leaving nothing of his body untouched. 

The pain  _ slammed  _ into him, sudden and intense. It gathered in his shoulder and  _ exploded  _ outward, a cry releasing from his mouth before he could stop himself. He dropped to one knee, something like panic overtaking him when the vampire immediately turned, standing over Hajime with a fire growing behind him.

“Oh? What’s this? A guest that I didn’t know of?”

The pain was everywhere and excruciating, lancing through every capillary like a fish through water. It was agonizing. And yet, he forced himself onto his feet, grabbing the stake. His breaths were heavy and slow, but he hefted his weapon and stared dead into the vampire’s eyes, finally getting a good look at him.

He was beautiful. Ethereal. Eternal. Too pale to be human, his movement too fluid and graceful to be anything short of mesmerizing. He was finely dressed, his hair neatly pulled back from his face. The smile on his lips was easy and genuine, but his fangs gleamed unmistakably in the light.

It would have been so easy to stop dead in his tracks, let the mix of pain and beauty entirely take him over. But he had never been someone who took it easy. Something new was  _ festering  _ in him, the pain accompanied by the strongest anger he’d ever felt. 

Hajime charged, no longer caring about technique or even accuracy at this point. He wanted him  _ dead  _ and he wanted to just  _ collapse  _ and something in him wanted to see  _ blood.  _ It was an incredibly out of character urge, the senseless violence overtaking his mind anything but natural. And yet, he gave into it without even questioning it. 

Another thing about how Hajime hunted was that he rarely, if ever, missed. It never took him more than three shots to successfully ambush and kill something. So when the vampire dodged the fourth blind jab, he almost snarled in frustration. 

Well, not that it would matter much soon. He could barely stand from the agony, and it felt as if things were  _ shifting  _ inside of him, pushing and pressing under his skin in a way that shouldn’t be possible.

It had been a normal wolf that had bitten him. It had been a normal wolf that had bitten him. It had been a normal wolf that had bitten him.

But as he collapsed to his knees in front of the vampire, doubled over in agony and his shirt feeling tighter by the moment, he had to accept that _ no normal wolf had bitten him. _

“You seem quite out of sorts.” If he could look up, he would see an elegant sword being drawn, the thin blade gleaming in the moonlight. The tip pushed under Hajime’s chin, forcing him to look upward. There almost seemed to be concern on the other’s face. No, that couldn’t be right. Vampires didn’t feel-- _ no.  _ This had to be the charm, the manipulation that he had been warned against so thoroughly. 

And yet, he was in too much pain to move. 

“Is something wrong?”

His blood was roaring in his ears as he stared up, pale and sweaty. An uncontrollable rage was bubbling up in his gut--he wanted nothing more than to  _ tear him to pieces with his bare hands. _

“I do ask that you answer when I speak to you,” the vampire said haughtily, pressing a little harder, pulling him up further. “It’s quite rude to not answer when someone is trying to have a conversation with you, you know.” 

“Shut...up,” he ground out, his breaths ragged and uneven. It hurt, God, it  _ hurt  _ to breathe, like his lungs were changing shape in him. 

The blade jabbed into his Adam’s apple, just deep enough for blood to begin to well and flow. “Mind your tongue. You really ought to be a bit more respectful, considering the situation you’re in--”

Hajime interrupted him with a cry of agony, slicing his hand open as he desperately shoved the sword away and doubled over, clutching his stomach. The seams of his shirt were ripping--something was  _ wrong. _

The vampire stepped back, then, shock evident on a face that Hajime couldn’t see. Shock, then sudden understanding. Just for confirmation, he cast a quick glance out the window.

The full moon sat in the sky innocently, as if it could do no wrong. As if it wasn’t slowly and painfully transforming the man in front of him.

“This is your first time, I bet. I had heard that there was a werewolf around these parts that slipped past me…” he mused. “And you must be Hajime, then. That monster hunter in my little town. I had always wondered when you were going to come for me. But it seems…” he squatted down in front of Hajime, who didn’t much look like a Hajime anymore. 

“...something else got to you first. But worry not, I’ve prepared for that. Ever since I heard the rumors that something was here that shouldn’t be.”

Perhaps some would call it paranoia, being overprepared for something that probably wouldn’t happen. And yet, it seemed luck was yet again in his favor since he had, indeed, prepared for this. 

Werewolves and vampires were natural enemies. In his eyes, it made perfect sense to prepare for one, should it stumble into his home.

Hajime was in too much pain to stop the collar from being clicked around his neck. The fact that he was sorely lacking a human mouth also likely contributed. The transformation wasn’t quite complete--the rage had subsided for the moment. All he was feeling right now was  _ pain.  _ That didn’t mean, however, that it wasn’t soon to return.

“By all rights, I really should kill you now, while you aren’t a threat,” the vampire continued, wrapping the chain around his hand. “But...you have been helpful in the past. You keep my town all nice and clean of other unsightly things--like me! I keep the other vampires and monsters out, but you manage to always catch everything that slips through the cracks. And you’re just  _ so  _ good at what you do; it’d be a shame to waste you just because you’ve fallen to something lesser, as unfortunate as it may be.”

The cries of pain were no longer human. They were whines and whimpers--full animal. The intelligence in his eyes was gone, glazed over and morphed to something entirely canine.

The whimpering turned to a low growl--it was his only warning before the wolf lunged.

He jumped to the side,  _ yanking  _ on the collar. 

If this was to work, he had to establish their roles quickly and firmly.

_ “N--” _

He was instantly cut off. The wolf (for that was he was now, nothing human remained)  _ pounced,  _ pinning him to the ground under snarling jaws and claws that sunk into this chest. He growled, drool dripping onto the vampire’s face as he evidently debated his options as to what to do next with his prize. Debating where to bite first.

“Now, let’s be rational,” he chuckled, apparently undisturbed. “I know you don’t understand me, and I certainly know you want me dead. But we have to come to an agreement here, don’t we?” His hand snuck up, just behind Hajime’s flank. Thick claws of his own began to extend from where his nails should have been. 

“You listen to  _ me.”  _

He sliced through fur and skin and muscle like they were nothing more than butter, leaving the poor thing’s leg in ribbons. He yelped, collapsing on top of him. It was a pain to wriggle out, but he did it without complaint. 

When he was free, he looked down and was quite displeased to find his shirt was, well, ruined. Torn to shreds, puncture marks pushing through it into his chest where the wolf had landed when he pounced. They would be a pain to fix. He stared daggers at his new (Friend? Tool? Conquest? Pet?), who had the sense to look thoroughly cowed. 

“Attack me again and you’ll have more than your leg torn up, love. I know you can control yourself--not quite yet, of course, you’ve never done this before. But I’ll--I know what I’ll do! I’ll teach you!” He grinned at the wolf, all his anger seemingly dissipating instantly. As if nothing so terrible had just happened. “I’ll  _ train  _ you. So you can keep my town safe, as a man  _ and  _ an animal. Doesn’t that sound wonderful to you?”

Hajime just snarled.

He patted the other on the snout, moving up to scratch behind his ears when he snapped. He did his best to look angry, but before long his thumping tail betrayed him. Maybe taming the thing wouldn’t be quite as difficult as he thought.

“Not so scary after all, hmm?” 

He paused. “I just realized I never told you my name. Komaeda. Nagito Komaeda. I do hope you remember it, puppy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! i hope you enjoyed this chapter. as always, you're so wonderful and loved. go watch the sunset today. 
> 
> -fen <3


	3. collar(bones)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened last night?

Hajime woke up sore, but there was a concentration of a frankly annoying amount of pain in three places. His temples felt like they were going to explode, his shoulder was on _fire,_ and pain was slashing across his leg. And to be quite honest, he wasn’t happy about it. As his vision came into focus, it quickly became apparent that he _wasn’t_ at his house. 

The room was drafty and stone, bare for but the very basics (the uncomfortable, hard bed he was tucked into, a desk and chair that had seen better days, a wardrobe that should by all rights have been empty, and a mirror that reflected just how battered Hajime was.). His reflection was what truly made him stop dead and stare.

He was completely shirtless, his shoulder left unbandaged and absolutely wrecked. It seemed to have completely reopened instantly, smeared with blood and coated in bruising every sickly shade of the ugliest rainbow he’d ever seen. 

His head _looked_ fine enough, but the pain told him otherwise. And as for his leg--well, he couldn’t see it. But even his pain wasn’t what kept him speechless.

There was a collar fitted around his neck.

It was cold and heavy, weighing his head down and probably contributing to why his head hurt so badly. Shaking hands reached up and touched it, giving a useless tug that only served to prove that it was, in fact, real metal. The chain leash pooled in his lap, harboring traces of warmth from his body heat. His breaths came and went far more shakily than they had before.

This was wrong. This was _wrong_ and when he racked his pounding brain to figure out where he was and how he got here he came up with absolutely _nothing._ The last thing he remembered was tying up his horse--

“So you’ve finally woken up.” The voice, low and amused, floated from the door. His head shot up (a movement he regretted) to see the man plopping down at the end of his bed. So this had to be the vampire he had ridden out to fight. But if he had lost to him, why were they both still alive? Why was he in bed and in a collar?

“I wouldn’t try to get up just yet. I did quite some damage when I tore your leg open. Getting you up here was a trial in and of itself.” He felt like his throat was going to close up.

Something was missing. Something _very important_ was missing and this stranger knew something he didn’t. This enemy knew something he didn’t. Being as subtle as he could possibly be, one of his hands slipped under the sheets to check his pockets for one of the two silver knives he always kept on him. 

His pockets were empty.

“You won’t find any of your things. I’ve already relieved you of your possessions.”

He gritted his teeth, fear and frustration mixing together in an ugly mess in his stomach. “Take this _thing_ off me,” he snarled, pulling again at the collar. There was a fair amount of give, but far from enough for him to slip out of it.

“Ah--well. About that.” The stranger managed to look legitimately apologetic. “I can’t do that just yet. You should know why. We did discuss it, after all--not as if you could talk.”

“What are you _talking_ about?” It was uncanny, seeing only one reflection in the mirror.

The vampire shifted, turning to fully face Hajime. He looked familiar, sure, like they definitely had already met, but the image was hazy and the memory gone entirely. He had no idea what happened, or even when it had happened. The small window showed that it was night again, but the sky was clustered with storm clouds, rain slamming against the window, occasionally punctuated with faint rumbles of thunder. 

His eyes shone as he stared at Hajime. “So...I’m assuming you don’t remember, then. I suppose that makes sense.”  
  


That fear and confusion and anger was quickly morphing into panic. “What happened. What did you _do_ to me.”

He placed a gloved hand over his heart, looking positively wounded. “I didn’t _do_ anything! I simply dealt with you accordingly. All things considered, I was quite generous with how I handled your little situation.”

“What. Are. You. Talking. About.”

HIs face fell. He looked almost sympathetic, as if Hajime was some lost kitten on the side of the road. As if something tragic had happened and he had to deliver the news.

“You _do_ know what kind of wolf left that nasty bite on you, don’t you? And you _do_ know that the moon was full last night?”   
  


All the blood drained from his face. No. _No._

“No. You’re lying to me. You’re trying to trick me into--”

“I wouldn’t _lie_ about something so cruel. By all rights, I should have put you out of your misery when you started to shift in front of me. But--”   
  
“I was bitten by a regular wolf,” he protested, his resolve fading by the second. “It was just a regular wolf.”

The vampire shook his head and sighed, crossing his arms. “I understand this may be difficult for you to accept, but I’d prefer if you just got over that for the moment so we can discuss like adults.”

“Discuss _what?_ How you’re going to get this thing off me? How you seem to know all this about me, when I don’t even know your name? Why, if you say I am what I am, you didn’t kill me?”

“That isn’t coming off. Not yet.”

“Stop avoiding my questions.”

They stared each other down, the tension thick and uncomfortable. All Hajime wanted were the answers to his questions, to figure out what had happened and what had been _done_ to him. Or perhaps, what he had done.

“Fine,” the vampire snapped, his patience finally seeming to wear thin. “Since you so rudely forgot when I already told you, my name is Nagito Komaeda. Do try not to forget it again. And the _only_ reason you aren’t dead is because you’re useful. Even if you’re, regrettably, a far lesser being now than you were--” 

_“I’m not a monster!”_

_“Yes,_ you are.” His face was set. Still beautiful, still not quite human. “And despite even that, your uses outweigh the negatives. At least for now. If you keep being so disrespectful my opinion is inclined to shift. You are _only_ still alive, _pet,_ because you’ve been keeping my town safe for too long for your skill as a hunter to be squandered.”

He was red in the face by now, shaking hands fisted in sheets he wanted to strangle this “Komaeda” with. He wasn’t a pet. He wasn’t a monster. He was a _human being._ “ _Your_ town?”

“Well, yes. Miss Nevermind is, in fact, my only living relative, and I did used to live there, so it is a point of interest to keep your little home free of other beasts such as myself. Of course, I’m not perfect--”

“I didn’t know vampires could admit to fault.”

“Mind your tongue, or I’ll muzzle you next.” He was dead serious, and Hajime closed his mouth for the moment. “I can’t keep _everything_ out, and you tend to do a fine job of slaughtering everything that slips through the cracks. I’d rather not leave them without a second line of defense. But as you are now, I cannot allow you to return.”

Everything hot and molten in his insides turned to lead almost instantaneously. “What?”

Komaeda huffed a breath, standing from the bed and grabbing ahold of the chain before Hajime could stop him. “You’re a danger to yourself and everyone there. You are unable to control yourself as a wolf. Until you’ve been properly trained and know how to behave yourself, I can’t in good conscience let you go.”

“And what do _you_ know about conscience?” he snapped, shoving the sheets back and swinging his legs over the bed, pain entirely forgotten. Armed or not, he was going to rip this prick to _shreds._ He didn’t care if he had to use his bare hands.

“I wouldn’t get up yet--”  
  


As soon as he put weight on his left leg, the pain was _very suddenly remembered and intensified._ He collapsed almost immediately, Komaeda stepping back happily to let him fall, the slightest bit of amusement playing across his features. Hajime slammed into the floor, Komaeda’s grip on the leash rattling his neck and knocking the air out of him. 

Komaeda leaned over him, the grip on the chain infuriatingly, triumphantly tight. “I _did_ say that I did quite some damage, now didn’t I? After all, you attacked so viciously, I had no choice but to return in kind.”

“I’m _not a monster!_ This--this is just some kind of game to you, toying with me before you kill me--”

Komaeda _yanked,_ forcing Hajime to sit back up. Starbursts cracked across his vision when his leg was moved again. The chain wrapped around his hand, he squatted down to eye level, fangs flashing for just long enough for it to be a warning. 

“Well then. If you don’t believe me, take this.”

There was a knife strapped to his side--Hajime’s knife. Hajime’s _silver_ knife. Despite the handle being wooden and wrapped in plain leather, Komaeda still took incredible care when he unsheathed it.

“Touch the blade, if you’re so sure you’re still human. You know there’s no way for me to have tampered with it.’

He hated to admit that he hesitated before he reached out. It was a good knife, one that Kazuichi had smelted him years ago. It had seen him through dozens of fights, saved him more times than he could count. It wouldn’t betray him now...right?  
  


His hand (also already scabbed over and wounded--what had _happened_ to him?) closed over the blade.

And it _burned._

Good _God,_ it burned. The silver he’d used and touched time and time again now turned against him. He snapped his hand back, staring mutely at the blistering red marks spreading across his palm. 

So. It hadn’t been a lie.

Hajime Hinata, 25 years old, who had been killing monsters since he was fourteen, was no longer human.

“Did I hurt anyone?” His voice softened, barely above a whisper. At least for now, all the anger had melted away, replaced with a strange hollow rattling in his chest.

If he had been able to look up, he would have seen Komaeda’s expression soften. “There was nobody there to hurt. You attacked me, but I got you under control. All you ruined was a shirt.”

His shoulders still slumped. Komaeda carefully resheathed the blade, dropping to one knee beside Hajime. He didn’t touch him or let go of the chain, but any anger or smugness had left his expression. He almost looked kind.

“It’s going to be alright. I know the transition is difficult--”

“Let me go home,” he mumbled. “Please.” Someone would be able to fix it. Gundham--he loved animals and knew everything there was to know about the ungodly and arcane. He would know something or someone. He could reverse it. Sonia knew almost as much as her husband, would have the resources to find someone who would have the answer if even they didn’t. 

They could help him. They could cure him. There had to be a way to cure him.

“You know I can’t do that.” But he sighed and leaned over, untucking a cord holding a key from his shirt and unlocking the collar. His hands were freezing but surprisingly gentle as it was removed. It clanked with a _thud_ as he set it on the bedside table.

“It stays off as long as you _behave_ , alright? And it goes back on when you turn again. But for now...you can have a break.”

The weight on his neck and head lessened, but his chest was tight and painful. Everything ached, everything hurt. The taste of iron lingered in the back of his throat. If he didn’t distract himself, a faint, high-pitched whine pierced his ears. There were bruises on his neck, and his jaw was tender and sore. Everything was far too painful to just focus on any one thing. 

“Come on. You need to be cleaned up. I suppose I should feed you as well. And proper clothes wouldn’t hurt. I know we’ve gotten off to a bad start, but I don’t want you hurting more than you already are.”

He would probably vomit if he ate. Even the thought of food made his stomach turn. But Komaeda slung his arm over his shoulder, pulled him up, and set him back on the bed. He no longer seemed offended when Hajime didn’t (perhaps couldn’t) answer, but frowned when he was pushed away. But instead of reprimanding him, he walked out of the room, soon returning with a box of medical supplies, a fresh pair of clothes slung over his shoulder, and a glass of water. 

“This is going to hurt.”

“No shit,” he muttered, grabbing a fistful of blankets to grip anyway.

“Snippy, aren’t we? I do hope your attitude improves.” And just like that, the sympathy was gone, as quickly as it had manifested. They were back at odds. The collar and chain sat on the table, right within Komaeda’s reach should he decide that Hajime was misbehaving too much for his liking. 

He strongly suspected that it would be locked back on before the day’s end (well, day’s beginning). It was nighttime now, and the idea that he’d be left to roam in the daylight was absurd. No, before long his freckles would surely be faded and he’d be trapped under moonlight. He’d never disliked the nighttime, even though he knew what prowled the countryside and stole cows and people alike. The stars were too brilliant, the moon too quiet and serene for him to be anything but appreciative.

The moon didn’t feel very serene anymore. He was suddenly glad of the rain covering it up, providing noise he could focus on as Komaeda none too gently cleaned and wrapped his shoulder back up. He bit his tongue and kept quiet instead of instigating a further fight. As appealing as it was to swing, he wasn’t slated to win.

“Luckily for us both, this should properly heal now, since you’ve turned. I don’t doubt that you’ll have quite the impressive bit of scarring.”

He had to swallow the _shut up_ on his tongue. As insufferable as he was proving to be, Komaeda was quite literally his jailer. The key to a leash that now had Hajime’s name on it hung around his neck. Surely this room locked as well. 

“There. I already bandaged your leg before you woke up--let me see your hand.”

“I’m fine.”

“You sliced it open last night and just burnt it. Now’s no time for you to show off.”

He drew back anyway, cradling his arm against his chest. “I don’t want you touching me.”

Komaeda frowned and rolled his eyes. “We’ve already passed that boundary, haven’t we? You’re just trying to be difficult.”

“I can fix my hand by myself.”

He didn’t want to be touched anymore. He didn’t want to be cared for, not by _him._ He wanted to be left alone--he wanted to go _home--_ he wanted to be able to process everything that had happened and everything he couldn’t remember and piece together what had actually happened. Komaeda was far from a reliable narrator in his eyes. If he was left alone to think and let his pain subside, he might be able to remember what had actually happened.

“Stop arguing with me. I find that I’m growing quite tired of it. Just give me your hand.”

“No.”

He grabbed Hajime’s wrist, yanking his arm out. He could have sworn the faintest hint of a smirk passed Komaeda’s face when he couldn’t hold back the yelp.

“That’s what I thought. Open your fist.”

Hajime just scowled, his sense of self-preservation lowering as his anger bubbled up. “I said _no.”_

“You’re in no position to argue--”

“I’m sorry, then what have we been doing since you walked in? Discussing the weather?”

“Trying my _patience,_ is what you’ve been doing. I’m trying to make sure you don’t end up dead, but you’re making me want to reconsider at this point.”   
  
They just glared at each other, neither wanting to be the person who gave up. 

After three full minutes of charged silence, neither one relenting, Komaeda spoke up again, sounding significantly more tired than he had been before. 

“This is unbecoming behavior.”  
  
“Putting a collar on someone is unbecoming behavior,” Hajime shot back, making another yank for his hand and fighting the urge to abandon all pretense of civility and throw a punch with his (good) hand, further wrecking his (bad) shoulder. It would hurt, and he would be shoved back in that collar and probably bled dry before he could even blink, but he was honestly considering it. 

“It was either that or being mauled, and you’d be considerably worse off if you killed me, all things considered.”

“It’s what I came here to do. You aren’t exactly changing my mi-- _HEY--”_

The second Hajime loosened his grip, Komaeda forced his palm open, being no gentler with how he cleaned it out. “Thank you, puppy. See how much easier it is when you cooperate?” The little smile had returned. Smug and triumphant. 

His vision was getting blurry. “Call me _puppy_ again and watch what happens.” His teeth were gritted so tightly that his jaw throbbed. 

“I’ll call you whatever I want,” Komaeda said dismissively, wrapping his hand with surprisingly practiced ease. “You barged in and tried to kill me, had your little hissy fit and bled all over my clothes and the floor, and didn’t even bother to make anything easier once you changed back. You just collapsed and refused to wake up, so I had to _carry_ you up here--”

“Poor thing.”  
  
“--you’re _one_ comment from me putting that collar right back on. And a gag for good measure. The point being, you broke in, you tried to kill me. I’m entitled to using whatever names I want for you.”

His face burned red--he had to look somewhere else before he well and truly lost his temper and tried to attack Komaeda again. His good hand was strangling the blanket, the only thing keeping his nails from digging into his palms. 

It was only made harder when the clothes were practically hurled at him. “Get dressed. I’m not helping you. If you can get downstairs, there will be something for you to eat.”

“I can’t walk--”

“Then figure something out,” Komaeda said, getting up and walking towards the door. “I’m keeping you alive because you’re useful. I never said anything about making it easy for you.” The door slammed shut, and Hajime screamed into his pillow. 

Every curse under the sun and more were uttered as he pulled on the shirt and pants. His boots were by the door, but even the idea of putting weight on his bad leg was hellish. 

He gave up before he even started, sitting back against the wall and hugging the pillow close. It took him a few more minutes before he let his guard down entirely, sobbing silently into it. His body shook, tears running quietly down his face. All the anger dissipated as soon as Komaeda was gone--he was just scared. Scared and lonely and in pain.

“It was just a normal wolf,” he mumbled into the soaked pillowcase. “It was supposed to just be a normal wolf.”

He was tired. So tired. He had been asleep for apparently over a day and he was still exhausted. The collar sat on the dresser, mocking him. If he ran his good hand over his neck, it ached. Bruised.

Everything hurt. But his heart was going to be the heaviest burden of them all, it seemed.

He had no idea how long he cried for, up there in what he could only assume was to be his cell. At least there were sheets and a quilt, a soft brown thing he wrapped around himself to cut the draftiness. For the rest of the room’s shabbiness, at least there was one thing that was warm.

It seemed like an eternity before the door opened back up. Komaeda (because who else could it be?), bearing a plate of food.

“So you didn’t even tr--” he stopped, actually looking at Hajime. “Oh. Oh my.” 

The plate was set down without much ceremony on the nightstand, forgotten almost instantly. 

“Go away.”  
  
“I don’t just want to leave you, well, crying. What kind of host would I be?”

As he sat down on the bed once more, Hajime moved away, pressing himself into the corner. His grip on the pillow was tight, as if it could somehow protect him. He put it as a physical barrier between them. His good leg was tucked up with it, making him look somewhat similar to how a lost child clings to their favorite toy.

“Hosts let their guests leave,” he mumbled, wiping his nose on a sleeve. “Get out.”

“Not until you aren’t blubbering. I may not like you, and you don’t like me, but I don’t want to just leave you.”

“Leave me _alone. Please.”_

Komaeda sighed, shifting until he was in front of Hajime. He had shed his jacket, leaving a white shirt and cravat pinned with a red brooch at his throat. Simple. Elegant. His skin and hair were nearly as pale as his shirt--it would be concerning, had he been a living thing. There was no real color to his skin, no underlying tints of pink or yellow that gave human skin its’ pallor. Hajime’s blood still ran red, but who knew if he’d even have any to bleed out by the time Komaeda deemed him fit to be released. If he ever did.

“I know you’re upset with me. I’d be surprised if you weren’t. This...the transition is something we all have to go through. It’s hard not to be human--”

_“I’m human.”_

Komaeda’s shoulders seemed to slump, something like that sympathy from before reentering his eyes. 

“We all want to be human. Unfortunately, that just isn’t our reality anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since i'm a college student (i study forensic science!), i actually don't plan on updating this daily. however, updates will be as frequent as i can make them. i'm just posting what i have and running, lol 
> 
> as always, you're loved! drink a glass of water and listen to your favorite song today :)  
> -fen <3


	4. doe-eyed, dog-eared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> worries begin to grow at home, set to the sound of a violin.

It had been a week since Hajime had left. She knew not to be too worried yet, this wasn’t yet out of the realms of unordinary. But it  _ had  _ fallen into the sphere of what was uncommon. He hadn’t had to travel particularly far out of town, and he was only hunting for one thing. He probably should be back by now. She hadn’t voiced her concerns to anyone for fear they’d be dismissed as being overprotective, but something felt  _ different  _ about this, something felt  _ off.  _

Her fear only heightened when the horse returned, fully saddled and still stocked with provision--but lacking weapons and a rider. The poor thing was hungry and exhausted, like she had to find her own way home. There were no notes attached to her, no indication that anything was amiss (except, of course, that there were no weapons and there was no Hajime.). 

As soon as the horse was watered, fed, and stabled to rest, Chiaki marched all the way to Sonia’s house, nearly banging on the door to be let in. 

It was Gundham who answered, but she pushed right past him, heading straight for Sonia’s office. 

“What did you send Hajime after?”

Sonia flinched, head shooting up from a ledger. “Chiaki?”

“His horse came back. But not him. Something’s wrong.” Sonia’s face paled, strands of blond hair falling into her face that she didn’t bother to push away. 

“Just his horse?”

She nodded firmly. “It had everything except his weapons.”

The way Sonia’s grip tightened around her pen didn’t go unnoticed. “A vampire. About a day’s ride into the woods. I thought he would have returned days ago and had just forgotten to check in. He has done that before.”   
  


“All he left was a note. It’s been a week.” If she had been pale before, she was white as a sheet now. There was a pit opening up in Chiaki’s stomach, growing a little bigger with every second of silence that passed between them.

“Well…” Sonia grimaced. “It is still a little too early to be sure something is wrong. He has been delayed like this before.”   
  
“On a trip where he had to go a few days out of his way. Not a place about a day away.”

“You should not be too worried yet.” It sounded more like she was reassuring herself than Chiaki. “He is very good at what he does. I have no doubts that he will come back.” The light from the window no longer felt warm.

“His horse came back without him!”

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. It was terrible and dark, sliding between them like a sludge of fear wrapping around their legs and dragging them under. Sonia was every bit as scared as she was.

“Chiaki, what  _ can  _ we do if he ends up not coming home?” she sighed, slumping back into her chair. “It was a vampire hunt. If things really did go for the worst, and by some miracle we get him back, his body will have to be staked and burnt. All we have to do is hope for the best. He has never lost before. Have faith.”   
  
The hole in her stomach grew to become a canyon. 

“If he’s not back in two days, I’m going to look for him.”

\--

It had been maybe a week at most since Hajime had woken up in the bed. Today was the first day he even considered going down the stairs on his own. For the past few days he’d been stuck up here, hobbling his way to and from the bathroom on one foot, Komaeda not making it any easier when he came up with food or to check on his wounds.

It seemed they couldn’t go more than ten minutes without a fight, after the first day. He had just sat there and stayed while Hajime cried, not leaving until the urge was well and truly ridden out. There was no real reason for it, not that either of them could pinpoint. By all rights he should have left. And yet he stayed, and for that one moment, his presence wasn’t so bad.

Hajime couldn’t say the same about any other moment. 

Like this present one. At least, this time, it was in a different room. He’d made it downstairs somehow, walking along the wall to the kitchen. So the first argument of the evening happened in a new backdrop, almost giving it a new sense of flavor. It was honestly refreshing to bicker in a new place. 

“We’ve been through this too many times for you to keep being this difficult.”

“I’m not hungry.”

They sat across from each other at the table, both staring daggers. Hajime had to get used to living by firelight, everything having the faintest tint of orange and heavy shadows casting across the room. The warmth of the fireplace did nothing to cut the tension. The light danced on the collar that sat around his neck once more, locked back on upon their first argument and where it had remained since. There was no goodwill or mercy from either side, it seemed.

“You didn’t eat yesterday.”

“So?”

Komaeda crossed his arms and scowled. “Would you prefer I put it in a bowl and you ate off the floor? Is that preferable to your tastes?”

“I’m  _ not  _ a dog.” His ears were flaming red.

“Wolves and dogs are generally the same, wouldn’t you agree?”

“If you keep using the same cuts, it gets predictable, you know.” 

There was a warning tug on the chain. Another irritatingly self-satisfied grin. “Well, if it works, why change? Maybe if you do as you’re told and eat I’ll reconsider.”

That was definitely a lie. He obviously enjoyed dangling that particular set of insults over his head, reveling in how Hajime would get red and flustered and would snap back at him. So far, he had come up with nothing that would cut even half as deep as the constant reminder that he wasn’t human anymore. Hajime hadn’t heard his own name pass Komaeda’s lips, though he was confident the vampire knew it. “Puppy” and “pet” were his personal favorites, used almost as mocking terms of endearment. 

He doubted Komaeda was going to relinquish the names so quickly. But he was tired and dehydrated and no matter how much he lied he  _ was  _ hungry, hungry as hell. It seemed werewolves had a higher appetite even on regular days. He had refused food at first simply to be difficult (he hated the collar, but he hated the idea of being obedient to Komaeda more), but it was taking its toll far more quickly than he expected. It also certainly didn’t help that his shoulder still ached every time he moved it--making eating far more of a chore than he realized it would be.

He scowled and picked up the fork anyway. 

Komaeda grinned. “Good boy.”

“Shut  _ up.”  _ He ate as quickly as he could, wanting nothing more than to get up and leave and be left alone until they repeated this bit the next time Komaeda decided to feed Hajime. He wouldn’t be allowed to leave until he was finished, he assumed, based on the way his chain was being held. By now, it had become equal parts humiliating and just plain old  _ annoying. _ He was an adult man, a  _ human  _ (because he had to be human, every second of every day he reminded himself that he was human, because if he didn’t he’d lose his mind)--being placed on a leash for events he couldn’t remember and then it being further forced on him for being disobedient.

He wasn’t a pet. But God knew he was being treated like one.

He leaned back in his chair as best he could without being further pulled around, painfully crossing his arms and sinking uncomfortably into the wood. He was hiding it under a thick layer of sharp-tongued vinegar, but he was more scared than anything else. Everything he had ever known had been torn out from under him in an instant. And now he was left reeling, locked in a castle he wasn’t allowed to explore. His options were simple and terrible: be led around on a  _ leash,  _ pulled along by someone he absolutely despised and who seemed to find his joy in Hajime’s misery, or sit alone in his room. “His” room. 

His leg ached, but he ignored it. He would collapse onto his bed when he got back upstairs--right now, he just wanted to get back up there, pain be damned. 

“There. Fine. I ate. Can I go now?”

“No. Come with me.”   
  


A sharp tug on the leash, and he was doing his best not to limp or attack. As appealing as it was, and though Komaeda looked frail (he was skinny, like Hajime could snap him over his knee without a problem), that was a fight he’d lose. It was a fight he’d already lost on two fronts. 

“What do you want now?” he sighed, wishing he had something to lean on or maybe a few mugs of Nekomaru’s home brew. 

“I want you to shut up and do as you’re told, pet. Just follow me.” He was tugged along through hallways he’d never be allowed to walk in alone, trying to conceal how hard it was for him to keep up.

“Stop  _ calling  _ me that.” His fists balled, but he kept them at his sides, nails cutting into his palms.   
  


“It’s cute when you get all flustered.”

He opened his mouth to fire back, but closed it as the words sunk in.  _ Huh? _ It had to be just to further provoke him--goading him was all Komaeda did, after all. Yeah. He was just provoking Hajime. There wasn’t anything more to it.

Komaeda pushed through another door. The rooms were getting cooler now, the drafts picking up.

“Here. I thought you could use some fresh air.”

He pushed open a side door to what used to be a garden, the stars out in their full brilliance. The sky was cloudless, near day-bright with the clusters of stars and the waning moon hanging overhead. The air was cold and it hurt his lungs, breath releasing in misted clouds. 

Komaeda dropped the leash, letting it swing down to Hajime’s knees. There was a set of hooks by said door. He grabbed a familiar green cloak and handed it over. It had been washed and mended--only he could have done it. Hajime took it wordlessly, shrugging it on and hoping his expression showed his confusion and perhaps some of the appreciation.

There was no less bitterness, there. But perhaps it would be cut with something akin to kindness from him.

“You’ve been a headache since you arrived,” Komaeda explained, crossing his arms, “but I’m not heartless. Being outside will do you some good.”

He nodded, pulling his cloak close around him. It still smelled like home, like the soap Chiaki and he used to wash their clothes and the spices they seasoned their foods with, the smoke from the fires lit to keep warm, the faintest hints of salted and cured meat for the winter.

“Come inside whenever you feel inclined to do so. The gates are locked and you can’t climb them.”

He turned around with a small flourish of his coat, shutting the door and leaving Hajime alone under the night sky. 

He sunk to his knees almost instantly, the grass crunching under his legs the most welcome sound he’d heard in a week (but it felt far longer). His leg screamed both in agony and relief as he  _ knelt  _ outside, the sky being the only roof to close him in. The air was cool on his face, the slight breeze causing him to shudder. The old cloak had been mended, but the stitches were still enough reminders of the rips they’d closed up. Some of them had been small and without consequence--getting snagged on a branch, Chiaki accidentally stepping on it as she walked by. Those small things felt far more important now.

“I’m sorry, Chiaki,” he mumbled, savoring the weight and feel of the cloak around him. “I have no idea what you’re thinking right now. I’m sorry I didn’t wait and say goodbye.” He’d come back to her. He refused to lose here and not be able to go back to his closest friend. His sister in every manner but blood. His horse had been cut free--she had either gotten lost and likely didn’t make it or was home by now, bearing saddle and provision but neither rider nor his weapons. 

“I’m going to go home,” he said again. It had become a mantra for him, a chant to repeat as the sun rose and he had to force himself to try and sleep with the light stinging his eyes. This wasn’t going to be his forever. Komaeda had said himself that his imprisonment wasn’t permanent. And yet there had been no clear end date set.

The terms had been simple and yet seemingly unattainable.  _ Control yourself as a wolf. Behave. Let me train you like the animal you are. _ His teeth gritted. Human teeth. He shed human tears and wiped them away with human hands. He walked on human legs and spoke with a human mouth. Tasted with a human tongue. He was, for all intents and purposes, human. He had to be.

But if he let his mind go and it started to wander, he began to notice that maybe things were changing. His eyes and nose felt sharper. Like he saw and smelt and felt more than before. The world around him was in greater clarity, the smell of even just the dirt now faintly tracing his nostrils. He wouldn’t be surprised by Komaeda sneaking up soundlessly behind him, not when the faintest scent of clove preceded him. 

His hair stood on end when he felt unsafe (almost always, now. He was sure he wasn’t in much physical danger unless he well and truly angered Komaeda, but he was very good at pushing the other’s limits.), and his appetite, despite how he masked it, felt endless and ravenous. When he gave in and ate, it was a fight not to tear into it without even regard for taste. 

Almost like a dog.

The next cold chill had nothing to do with the temperature. 

He sprang to his feet, filled with a determination to prove himself and Komaeda wrong. He wasn’t sure how he would do it, but he would. He had to. This place couldn’t be inescapable--it was a worn-down, centuries-old castle. There had to be a way out of this courtyard and into those woods surrounding the hill it sat on. If he could get into the woods, he would escape. These forests were old and massive--even if he didn’t go home right away, he could successfully hide. He didn’t plan on running right away, as tempting as it was. He would wait until he healed up, gained more trust. Acted more obedient, so the grip on the leash slackened until it was unlocked once more. Stole away bits and pieces to have provisions to run on. It would be a long and dangerous journey back, but he wouldn’t wait until he was broken to Komaeda’s whims just to have a safe guarantee back. 

Pressing his healing hand to the wall for support, he walked (limped, rather) along the stone and iron-wrought gates, covered in dead and dying vines of ivy. There had to be a way out. This place couldn’t be infallible. There was no way that he was well and truly trapped. 

But no matter how bright the stars were, there was still shadow abounding. The wall was shrouded in it, making close inspection nearly impossible. Even if his eyes were better now (maybe. Hopefully it was just his imagination.), he still couldn’t see in the dark.

But still he walked and wandered, searching for something that felt more and more impossible with every turn. He wouldn’t--he  _ couldn’t _ give up hope so quickly, but his leg ached and his shoulder throbbed and the collar around his neck grew colder with the temperature until it hurt whenever it brushed against his skin.

He stood and rested in those shadows for far longer than he would have liked to admit. It was cold. He was in pain. Frankly, he was sick and tired of being in pain. He was sick and tired of all of this and he feared it had barely begun. Even the moments of sympathy from Komaeda didn’t make it easier. If anything, he wished Komaeda would be angry all the time, and argumentative as he was. It would make things so much easier, make him feel far less guilty when he picked a fight. 

“Ugh.” Admitting defeat to the autumnal night and his own injuries, he went back inside, barely walking so much as dragging himself along at this point. He would have swallowed his pride and hopped along, had he not been too thoroughly tired to. Everything tired him out--anger took up all of his energy and the physical pain gobbled up whatever reserves he had. The slices and burns on his hand protested when he opened the door and further still when he closed it.

The first thing he noticed was the faint sound of a violin. It was distant and slow, mournful and bittersweet. It was almost sad that he wanted to follow it, even though he knew exactly who it came from. There were only two of them, after all. But he was tired and sore, and music sounded like the sweetest thing in the world at the moment. 

He’d never been in this area. All he had to follow was the music, an audial trail of breadcrumbs to a place where he could hopefully sit down and sleep for a while—there was no way he was making it back up those stairs. Even making it down had been a feat. His breathing was heavy and ragged, falling in and out of rhythm with the music.

After what felt like an eternity of following the music, which grew in volume far too slowly, he made it outside a door he’d never entered. After testing the knob with his good hand and finding it unlocked, he silently pushed his way in. Komaeda stood in front of a large fireplace, his back to the door. He either didn’t notice or didn’t acknowledge Hajime, instead playing on. The bow danced across the strings, not a single dissonant note to be heard anywhere.

There was a couch near Komaeda that Hajime collapsed into, far too tired to bite or start any sort of row, too exhausted and in too much pain to do anything but listen. He curled up on the cushions, laying his head on the armrest as he watched and listened. It was warm in here, the hearth crackling merrily behind Komaeda’s playing. The room was some sort of study, or perhaps a library, shelves of books surrounding them. A desk sat to the left of Komaeda, covered in papers and more books. 

It was the most comfortable place he’d seen in the old castle so far. The couch was worn but soft, sinking just enough under his weight that it could have been a mattress instead of a cushion.

The music danced around him as his eyes grew heavy. Truly Komaeda was gifted with it, or perhaps had lifetimes of practice under his belt. There weren’t too many violins to go around at home. He’d wanted to learn, but he’d never gotten around to asking Ibuki to teach him. It was a soothing sound, one that drew forth a yawn from him. 

He tucked his good arm under his head and closed his eyes, it feeling natural to curl up and rest here. His head hurt, his arms were sore, his leg was out of the question. His body was heavy with tiredness--it felt like his blood had begun to run leaden and he was stuck on that couch, too weighed down to get up.

Before long, he was very nearly asleep. The music slowed, then stopped. He kept his eyes closed, barely even awake enough to register what was about to happen or what had changed.

Footsteps. Komaeda walked over, his presence feeling surprisingly gentle. He sighed. “What am I going to do with you, puppy?” he mumbled, sounding far more good-natured than it normally did. The name felt more affectionate than derogatory. There was some significance to that, but he was far too tired to puzzle it out. Hajime surely wouldn’t remember this in the morning, only a fuzzy haze of reddish firelight and sweet violin.

He wasn’t going to remember the hands slotting under his back and at the bend of his knees, how he was lifted as effortlessly as a small child. He wouldn’t remember how his head tucked into Komaeda’s chest and how even if he didn’t have a heartbeat, the rhythm of his steps was almost as melodious as any sort of orchestra, no matter how grand. 

They went through the halls, to where Hajime faintly registered the stairwell to his bedroom (bed-cell, perhaps) was. Komaeda stalled at the entrance, and moved on. They walked away, to another place where Hajime had never been. 

The bed he was laid in was warm and far softer than anything he’d ever felt. He fell asleep entirely as he was (for lack of a better word) tucked in, his collar being removed and the sheets pulled up over him. 

“You know…” Komaeda sighed, taking in the sleeping Hajime. “You really aren’t so bad, when you’re not trying to fight with me.” He lingered at the door for a second too long before it quietly shut behind him. Left unlocked, for the first time. The collar sat on the nightstand, unlocked as well.

“Sleep well, puppy.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyyyyy october's finally here!! happy halloween to my girls, guys, and gncs/nbs! do something nice for yourself--you've earned it! 
> 
> -fen <3


	5. guilty hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> komaeda takes a moment to reflect on past and present.

Komaeda drank a lot of wine for someone who couldn’t get drunk. The glass was gripped tightly in his hand as he stood out on the balcony, only forest and mountain to be seen for miles. This had once been a military stronghold. But it had fallen into disuse and nature had long claimed it for herself.

At least, that was what the human population assumed.

Komaeda had lived here for about seventy-five years or so, by now. He was young, considering vampiric standards, still learning to be on his own and to lord over his own unknowing subjects. Junko’s death had left him reeling, as unfortunate as it was. All he had known as a vampire was under her tutelage. She’d been there to teach and guide him, always there every step of the way. This had been her town, and he’d been chosen by her to succeed him. Stolen away in the dead of night--he’d been no more than twenty-three, perhaps? Years had long since begun to run together and he wasn’t particularly interested in counting them all.

In all accounts, he had been a perfect candidate. Frail health, no family besides an uncle who hated him and an equivalent number of friends. He had been nearly bed-bound his entire life, seen more as a drag and less as someone to pity as he had grown from a trembling child to a self-loathing, useless adult. He still hated himself--why wouldn’t he? He wasn’t even human anymore. He was some pale apparition hiding under fine clothes, a drinker who couldn’t get drunk. A ghost encased in a body that above all else needed _ blood _ . It disgusted him, how he detested and relished the taste of it on his tongue, how _ right  _ it felt when his mouth was smeared with it.

He’d stared at Hajime’s neck before. What a wolf tasted like, he didn’t know--and he wasn’t about to admit that he was curious. He was spitfire and vinegar, someone who perhaps had a right to be as angry as he was. While of course, Komaeda was quite sick of his constant and utter defiance, he could begrudgingly admit that the poor attitude made sense. The physical pain he had to be in alone would be more than enough to cause even the mildest of men to get snippy. 

Komaeda himself hadn’t been making it much easier. He would easily admit that. They seemed to bring out the most extreme in each other, the anger bubbling over almost every time they talked to each other. It was sad, really. He didn’t  _ want  _ him and Hajime to be on such disagreeing terms, but his patience was beginning to wear thin. He took another sip, the sour wine unpleasant on his tongue. It was fine. Anything was fine, at this point. 

Hajime slept in the next room over from Komaeda’s. It seemed cruel to put him back where he had been, with the way he had limped into his study. It seemed his pet had been hiding how much pain he was  _ actually  _ in. For what reason, other than to be defiant and resist any help that he may have needed but certainly didn’t want, he wasn’t sure. He set down the wineglass on the railing, walking back inside. He didn’t particularly care if it fell. There were always more. It wasn’t as if it would land on anyone, after all.

It was a short trek from his bedroom to the kitchen that had only now had begun to be used again. He’d had to reteach himself how to cook, had made a silent arrangement with someone whose silence could be bought.

He pulled on his own shoes and left, Hajime sleeping soundly. None the wiser to Nagito’s exit. If all stayed as it was, nobody would be any the wiser to this little arrangement. In fact, it was for the best if it stayed concealed. 

Ryota Mitarai had always been a self-imposed outcast, his love cast into bookbinding, illustrating, and printing, putting his entire life into his art. His only true relation to the town beyond his little bookstore was his strange friendship with the dubiously rich man who called himself Togami. Nagito had approached the man years ago, both for information on how the town was doing, and now his aid (more importantly, his utter silence.). He was someone who admired from afar, perhaps thrilled to finally be included in something. The payment was nothing to sneeze at either. Art was an expensive passion, and Nagito had no trouble financing him.

The parcels of ingredients and meat and medicine were placed under an inconspicuous tree, just as they now would always be. Komaeda took them under his arm and replaced it with the money. A pot of ink and a new pen too, for good measure. It felt like bribery, and that’s because it was, but as despicable as it seemed, as much as Komaeda knew he was the villain in his own narrative, he knew this was the right thing to do. Hajime couldn’t be left back to Jabberwock--he’d kill them all in a fit of blind fury or they’d all kill him, losing their most important line of defense. Putting their personal issues aside, Hajime was essential. Komaeda had done his best to keep all other monsters out, but they would always slip through. 

Hajime killed them without mercy and without fail. He was the hope of that town. Komaeda refused to squander such wonderful hope just because he had transitioned from man to monster. A pet could be trained to be an attack dog. 

(Did he really think of Hajime like that? As a pet? Or did he do it just to seem cruel but make the transition easier? To make him accept his reality as a beast of the night? Or was it to realign his  _ own  _ lens, because Hajime Hinata seemed as human as they came, even as he pulled on his leash and curled his lip like the wolf that lay inside him? Because vampires and werewolves were supposed to be enemies, because he  _ wanted  _ Hajime to hate him so fiercely so he didn’t have to do anything but hate back? Would hating him make the taming more satisfactory and less bittersweet? It was all too much, and he quite disliked thinking about it.)

Komaeda suspected strongly that Hajime was masking the amount of pain he truly was in under a thick layer of spite. He didn’t refuse to eat not because he didn’t want to, but because using the hurt shoulder or the burnt hand was agonizing. All things considered, he hid the pain well, burying it under scowls and words that he might or might not have meant. Komaeda wasn’t one to assume intent, but the way he stiffened when he tried to eat was far from lost on him. Of course, the way Hajime talked rubbed him the wrong way--he didn’t understand why he just seemed to not  _ get it.  _

Why didn’t he see that this was for the best? That any other option would end with him dead? That while they were at odds, Nagito truly wanted nothing but the best for him--wanted what was best for Jabberwock? Did he not see that he, whether he liked or not, had become incredibly dangerous? That he’d lose control and rage as soon as he shifted again? That Nagito was the best fit to help him control himself (and regrettably, control him when he needed to be controlled)?

The medicine was crushed up in a mortar and mixed into a cup of water. He walked back and set it on Hajime’s bedside table, along with a little note. 

_ For the pain.  _

It was rude to stare, especially while someone slept, but he lingered for just a moment at the other’s bedside. He really was far more peaceful when he slept, the lines anger etched across his face wiped away for a still, silent ease. 

He had freckles. Something hollow rang in Komaeda when he realized that they would fade sooner rather than later. It shouldn’t have mattered to him. But it made the guilt he was pressing down rise to the surface. Whether Hajime was human or not--he needed the sun. He needed to live in the light. And Komaeda had trapped him in the dark. The tan would fade and the freckles would vanish.

If he focused on how angry Hajime was, on how cutthroat and spiteful he was, the guilt would fade somewhat. But then he would be reminded of what he was hiding, how he had cried on that first day and tried to push him away. He was scared. Lashing out, to protect himself. It didn’t make his endless spite any more civilized, but he knew he was more in the wrong here. He was keeping him prisoner--both in this castle and in the night. It was the right choice--killing him was out of the question. But sending him back was even more unacceptable. None of the options had been good--he just had chosen the one with the fewest consequences.

He sighed and turned away, closing the door silently behind him. If anything, he was almost as exhausted as Hajime. He returned to his study with little ceremony, staring at the unsheathed violin sitting on the chair. There was nothing particularly special about it, other than that it was old. His father had made it, before the plague that claimed everyone but Nagito (and left him useless and bedridden.), so there was that, he supposed. His father had been a musician, someone who crafted instruments for the rich merchants and nobles who could afford them. He used to travel to cities close by and sell them. Nagito had gone with him, once or twice. It was one of his few memories of being alive, certainly his only memory of childhood.

He didn’t remember much of being human anymore. It had been so long ago, now. He had forgotten what it felt like to bleed, to blush, to be warm. He had forgotten the sun on his face and the exact color of the sky.

It was how he wanted to die. Someday, he would have his fill of being a disgusting creature of the dark, and he would walk outside and find somewhere to watch the sun rise. He would take in all the colors one last time. No matter how mundane it would look to everyone else, to see the brilliance of the early morning one would be a way he would choose to die. He wanted to die under a sky that hid the stars, under a shade of blue that was bright and perfect. He would die in a manner where fire wasn’t the only light source.

He would have that peace, someday. But his work wasn’t finished. Jabberwock was his charge, the town Junko had left to him when she was killed. 

It had been almost fifteen years, and he was still scrambling to live without her on some days. She had been cruel, so heartlessly, perfectly cruel. And yet, taking him away was the greatest kindness she had ever afforded him. Nobody missed him, to be sure. And yet, even as the people he grew up with aged and died under her (and his) watch, he remained youthful. He had the health he’d been stripped of so young, the privilege to protect people first who hated him and then those who didn’t know him at all.

And now he was further protecting Jabberwock. He kept having to remind himself of that, as he picked up the violin once more. He began to play, something that may have been his mother’s favorite. (or Junko’s favorite. He wasn’t sure anymore.) It had never been one he particularly liked, but whoever had loved it had loved it deeply, and the notes came to him as easy as breathing. 

The music floated around the castle, filling it with something that wasn’t quite life. It wasn’t quite death, either. And yet, it echoed, making the massive spaces seem a little less empty. Music had been one of his only friends for a long time. 

There was an organ in another room, on the other end of the castle. It had taken years for Komaeda to restore it to playability, much less its former glory. But it stood now, polished and bright. Perhaps he could play that next, fill the hallways with something louder--well, no. Hajime was asleep, after all. To be mindful of a guest was new. Junko and Nagito hadn’t often had guests. There had been a third--Mukuro. But she had died far before Junko, spiked and burnt in a fit of rage. 

To say Komaeda had been well-behaved around Junko was an understatement. She was as unpredictable as the sea (or so they said. He had never been able to see the sea.), her personality and wants seemingly changing on a whim. She indulged temptation as freely as the birds flying on the wind, but she demanded all you had and more in the process. He'd given, and given, and given--served, and served, and served. Hajime would never know the origin of that collar (that Nagito had once worn it, until he had proved himself.). 

Even now, he wasn’t sure if he had adored or detested her. Even now, he wasn't sure if he missed her or not.

There was music in the castle until the sky began to turn pink. When he put the violin back in its place and walked by Hajime’s door again, he was still asleep.

Komaeda left the door to the courtyard unlocked when he went to bed. 


	6. fingertips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the violin is more of a peacemaker than their words could ever be.

This was the second time in a week Hajime had woken up in a new place. But this bed was softer and warmer than the other, the sheets tucked tightly around him and the collar sitting on the bedside table. Unlocked. This quilt was red--he could tell not by the firelight, but by the daylight that filtered in through the window. His leg was acting up (he had definitely used it for too long), but he gripped the nightstand and hopped to the window, soaking in every bit of sunlight he could. 

The room was awash in a golden glow, the late afternoon sun dazzling and comforting him. Despite the autumnal day, the light made the stones warm under his good foot. To feel heat from something other than a fire was refreshing.

Komaeda wouldn’t be awake for a while yet. Not that it mattered much--he could barely walk. Even if he found a way out, he wouldn’t be able to make it far on his own, not like this. Besides, the door was probably locked. It seemed he wasn’t trusted, even if he could barely move on his own. While the window betrayed that he was on the second floor (where the kitchen was), and he wouldn’t have to climb any stairs to be forced to eat, that didn’t exactly sweeten his mood. He was out of excuses to dodge meals. 

Hajime already wasn’t one to eat when he was upset. It didn’t help that the combination of his left shoulder and right hand being busted made the process almost as painful as walking. Everything hurt. By this point, it was nothing new. It was quickly becoming a new kind of normal. One that he hated to be adapting to; one that was almost as infuriating as the vampire himself. But it was tiring, to have even the most basic tasks impeded. It was even more tiring to constantly be lying through his teeth about it. 

He turned from the window and hobbled back to the bed, taking note of the glass on the bedside table. It even came with a note.

_ For the pain.  _

Komaeda’s script was elegant and done with a quick and careful hand, a small flourish marking the crossing of the t. 

He didn’t initially want to drink whatever it was, sitting innocently in front of him as he stiffly forced himself into a sitting position on the mattress.  _ For the pain.  _ So he had some idea of what was going on with Hajime. This was a risky gambit. On one hand, it could easily knock him right back out. But on the other, walking and being able to use his arm seemed appealing. And if he was knocked out, he didn’t have to deal with Komaeda. 

He sighed and grabbed the glass, downing it in one go. It tasted awful. But it was a familiar kind of awful--whatever he’d been given, he’d been made to down it before. Where Komaeda was able to get something like medicine when Hajime was the only one who needed it made his heart skip a beat. 

_ Does someone know I’m here? Did someone give this to him? _

Thoughts like that and more danced around his head as he sat there nervously, waiting for the pain to go down enough that he could try and leave. Every minute that he passed by resting was another minute where the sun slowly sunk below the horizon. He watched the window from his bed, savoring the warmth on his face. The sky was still blue, the treetops reflecting brilliant shades of yellow and red and orange, nary a green leaf to still be seen. While his room was still cold (it was cold everywhere, here), even just looking at the sun made him warmer. 

It wasn’t enough to calm his nerves, but he was far less shaky than he would have been when he finally decided to stand up again. 

There was a walking stick by the door, complete with a second note. 

_ Do try not to overwork your leg again.  _

He sighed, let the note settle to the floor, and grabbed the stick, putting his weight on it. His leg and shoulder didn’t hurt as of right now, but that was far from a forever guarantee. When it wore off, or when he got upset, or if he got sent back up those stairs, he’d want it. By all rights, Komaeda had handed him a weapon. He wasn’t particularly skilled with a staff. But it would be nice to have something to swing. 

He tested the knob.

Unlocked. 

“Oh.” He almost reeled back in surprise--it had never been unlocked before.

He poked his head out, scoping his surroundings. The kitchen was right down the hall, the smell of cooking surprisingly missing. Well, it was to be expected. The golden-hour sunlight leaked in through the windows and faint gaps in the stone, painting the floor yellow. The castle had a different atmosphere when the sun was still up--dust floated in the light, the drafts no longer seeming quite so cold. 

Away from the kitchen and down the hall, there was Komaeda’s study. His memory was fuzzy from last night, sleepiness fogging his memory, but he knew he’d made it in there before he fell asleep. The faint sound of a violin was the last thing he remembered, after coming inside. He could move freely. At least for now, until the sun went down, he could snoop without fear of being caught. 

The stick made a rhythmic pattern against the floor as he walked back into the room. The fireplace was dim and full of ash, the only light coming in from windows that had their curtains drawn. The desk had a strange organization, stacks of papers and books all arranged in a way that likely only made sense to the vampire. A small inkwell stood corked on the wood, the sharp scent of ink still faint in the air. 

Perhaps Komaeda was a journalist. 

A violin sat in its case on a chair. It laid there innocently in the light, the faint memory of the music playing on the air. It was all he really remembered, after coming inside from the courtyard. He had been exhausted by then. Ready to sleep, at any cost.

The sun was setting. Orange and pink and red danced into the room, as he pushed himself back into the couch. He was hungry, but the kitchen was too much of a bother to get to at this point. He’d just wait. He was still upset, of course he was, but something had softened ever so slightly, he thought. Not enough for something even resembling civility, but enough for something like a bit of respect. 

The violin tempted him, from its place on the chair. While there hadn’t been many people who could play (Ibuki, Sonia, Byakuya. Maybe Ryota, but he didn’t know Ryota very well.), those who had loved to do it with everyone else, the sounds of fiddle and piano and flute rising late into the night. He’d never been able to learn, beyond the barest basics of piano. He’d always wanted to, but when he was young, learning to hunt had been a full-time job. 

He had learned from the best, pushed himself to be every bit as good, perhaps even better. But it didn’t leave a lot of time to learn his scales. 

The scent of clove hit him a second before Komaeda spoke. 

“You seem to like violin.”

He turned around, his mood immediately souring. “And? You shouldn’t be able to be awake yet, the sun isn’t--”

“Check the window, pet.”   
  


The sun had sunk below the trees. Just enough for it to be safe. He gritted his teeth but let the insult roll off his back. If he kept responding to it, it would always be used against him. If he ignored it, perhaps Komaeda would stop. The other shed his coat and lit candles around the room, leaving the fireplace be for now. Before long, the room was filled with a warm, welcoming glow. 

“Oh.”

Leaving his jacket on the armrest of the couch, Komaeda walked over, picked the violin up. It was a beautiful thing, crafted from a glossy, dark wood. Designs had been carved into the sides, flowers and vines and bones twisting together in some sort of merry dance. Maybe it was a metaphor for something. The brooch pinned at his throat caught the candlelight, casting red patterns across Hajime’s face and hands. He made a cutting figure with the violin, as if they had been crafted for each other. Perhaps they had.

“Do you play as well?”

He shook his head, suddenly grateful that he had taken whatever medicine he’d been given. It was the best he’d felt in days. It even cut the fatigue that hadn’t seemed to fade. 

“Never had the chance to learn. I did always want to.” To have civil conversation was strange. It likely wouldn’t last for very long, but perhaps for once he could keep himself more beholden to the rules of polite society. After all, leaving was dependent on his own self-control, right? Being somewhat nice, if Komaeda didn’t fall back into his usual form, wouldn’t be too terribly painful. 

“If your shoulder and hand aren’t hurting too badly, I could show you a thing or two. That is, if you don’t mind being taught by me.” He hefted the instrument and beckoned Hajime over with the bow. 

His mouth opened in legitimate surprise. “You mean it?”

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t.” 

Something was definitely different, now. Perhaps something had altered both of their thought processes. A night outside and a violin. Was that really all it took to begin to establish a sort of peace? A truce? 

At the very least until he was healed, he wasn’t going to be able to even think about running. It would be good to earn Komaeda’s trust--make his life just a little less hellish if they could get along.

“Well...it’s something to do. I don’t want to spend the entire time fighting with you.”

The barest hint of a smile graced Komaeda’s mouth. “I find that for once, we’re in agreement.”

Hajime hauled himself to his feet and joined Komaeda by the unlit fireplace. 

“I’m going to have to touch you to show you how to hold it. Is that alright?”

He paused. “...yes. Thank you for asking.” So he had remembered. 

_ I don’t want you touching me. _

So maybe he was more considerate than he made himself out to be. He did remember. He was being...kind. Something about it was strangely comforting. Something about it implied that there was real respect there, despite the name-calling and the leash that sat on the nightstand. 

“Alright then. Here.” He handed over the violin. “You hold it under your chin, like this…” His hands were cold as he positioned Hajime, tucking the instrument into his neck. “Make sure your posture is proper; it makes things simpler.” The touches to his back and waist were light, but the jolt that shot up his spine was anything but. There was a dull ache in his shoulder, easy to ignore with the medicine in his veins.

“Here’s how you hold the bow. Tell me if this is too much for your shoulder or hand.” His chest brushed Hajime’s back, his hand settling over his. He corrected his posture and grip, gently guiding his hands and arms until he was holding it correctly. Everything about Komaeda was cold--save for his breath, hot on the shell of Hajime’s ear. It was a fight not to shiver.

“Don’t press too hard, just glide it across like this…” They were practically holding hands, the violin playing a soft note. Hajime was well aware of how close they were, how Komaeda was  _ just  _ tall enough to envelop him entirely. It probably should have worried him more than it did, how close they were. He had said only days ago that he didn't want to be anywhere near him. But this was...fine. More than fine. They weren't fighting, weren't threatening each other. There was a feeling of...respect, as they moved in unison. 

“Good.” He sounded legitimately pleased. It looked like a scene from a painting. Komaeda would be only a few brushstrokes of black and white, a slim apparition embracing Hajime as he seemingly transformed into a patient teacher, something utterly different from what he normally was.

“Make sure you don’t press too hard, alright? That’ll make it squeak.” They practiced as one multiple times, until Komaeda was satisfied with Hajime’s attempts.

He stepped away, and Hajime almost missed the closeness before he shook himself out of it.  _ What? _

“Why don’t you try on your own, now?” He settled down on the couch, crossing his legs and propping up his face on his hand. 

“Won’t you play for me?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys! tbh i'm very tired and i don't have too much to say, but i love all of you and i hope you do something nice for yourself and another today :) 
> 
> as always, thanks for reading! -fen <3


	7. stomachache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryota has chosen silence over telling everyone what he knows. It's eating him alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are mentions of v/miting in this chapter. It's not extreme or explicit, but if you have emetophobia, I'd recommend clicking away. Stay safe, lovelies!

He had always been nervous. Someone who fretted and regretted almost every action he took. Hindsight was crystal clear for Ryota Mitarai, and now it was apparent how much trouble he was in. Chiaki Nanami was leaving--saddling up a horse as they spoke. And it was his fault. He’d known for far longer than anyone else that Komaeda existed. He had been ten at the oldest when he was first approached, a little child lost in the woods (abandoned by childhood bullies.).

_ Night had fallen completely. The moon filtered through the trees, barely giving enough light for Ryota to even see his hand in front of him. He stumbled around, begging for anyone to come help him. Nobody came. Nobody heard him--he must not have been talking loud enough.  _

_ “HELLO?” His voice, never sounding so much bigger than him, echoed through the trees and was met with silence. Nobody was coming. Nobody was looking for him. Just like they had all said. They’d probably feel bad (or get scolded by their parents) and come looking for him tomorrow, but it wasn’t tomorrow yet.  _

_ Tears began to fall from his eyes as he sat down on the uncomfortable grass. It was cold, adn wet, and lumpy. He was cold, and probably was going to go home wet and muddy. If he could find his way home. If a grown-up found him, they were going to yell at him for getting lost, because the kids who left him behind wouldn’t tell the truth (that they left and ran away.). And if the kids found him, they’d make fun of him for crying and getting lost. _

_ Maybe staying lost was for the best. Nobody would yell at him if he stayed lost, right? _

_ The grass crunched behind him, and he leapt to his feet. Something was coming.  _

_ “H-hello?” _

_ “Are you lost?” There was real concern in the man’s voice as he stepped from the shadows. He towered over Ryota, looking down with sympathy and extending a hand. He was dressed more fancily than he had ever seen anyone else. A frilly shirt, pants that stopped at his waist. A ruby brooch at the base of his throat. He had on a short black coat, but he slipped it off. “Are you alright, little one?” _

_ He nodded, scared but not as scared as he had been. This man seemed nice, as he wrapped his coat around Ryota.  _

_ “Are you from the town? I can take you back.” _

_ “Y-yes.”  _

_ He smiled then, and it was so kind, as he took his hand and began to lead him out. “Alright. You can call me Komaeda.” _

He’d always kept Ryota safe after that. All he’d ever asked in return was information, who lived here and what they did. He’d always complied, even if he never really knew why. 

And now, Hinata was gone. Presumed dead, because what else would you think when the hunter didn’t come home? Nobody was forthcoming about how they all  _ knew  _ he was dead (he wasn’t. But Ryota certainly wasn’t about to say anything, was he?), didn’t want to destroy what little hope Chiaki had left. She would either be killed, be lied to and sent back in shambles, or she’d find Hinata and most certainly return without him. Rally the town to action against his oldest...friend? Was Komaeda his friend?

He didn’t often like to debate it. He especially didn’t like to think about it now, when he was keeping a hunter as a trophy up in that old castle. Komaeda had never  _ seemed  _ like the type who collected prizes, but Ryota didn’t trust himself to be a very good judge of character.

Everyone gathered in the square to see her off. Sonia had tried to talk her out of leaving; everyone had tried to talk her out of leaving. Even Ibuki, who tried to ride a cow down the street, tried to talk her out of it. And yet Chiaki had remained resolute. 

“I go whether you like it or not. I  _ know  _ he’s alive.”

Ryota only felt guilty. He didn’t know the circumstances of Hinata’s imprisonment, had no idea the reasoning. Why  _ wouldn’t  _ Komaeda kill him? Why had Komaeda always asked information on him specifically? Because he  _ was  _ a hunter, the one person who even stood a chance against him? That had been his assumption. But Hinata wasn’t...dead. Hinata was alive, and Ryota was somehow responsible for keeping him that way.

The butcher didn’t question when he upped the amount of meat he bought for the week, Mikan didn’t even think to ask when he started asking for pain medication. Nobody thought it was particularly strange of him, not even Byakuya. And Byakuya knew him better than everyone else. 

“It’s good to see you finally eating, Ryota.”

He thought it was impossible to make him feel worse by now--but he was wrong. His gut curdled as they all gathered at the square. Chiaki was by no means defenseless--Hinata was undoubtedly the hunter of the two, but she could certainly hold her own if she had to. But if Hinata had lost, he didn’t think she would do anything different.

He bit at his nail to keep his mouth shut, his stomach a roiling sea. If he spoke up now and said what he knew, he would soothe her fears. Perhaps exacerbate them, actually. But he’d be done for. Everyone in Jabberwock would kill him, and if they didn’t, Komaeda would. He had made him promise when they met never to tell.

_ “But why?” The coat nearly fell off him as he held Mr. Komaeda’s hand. “Why can’t Mommy and Daddy know you helped me?” _

_ He smiled softly. Ryota didn’t like looking him in the eye, because he was so much taller, and because his irises flashed red when the moonlight caught them. It was a little scary. But he was much less terrifying than being alone out there in the woods. His boots didn’t make any sound when they squished in the mud, making strange prints that he would have missed had he not seen them be made.  _

_ “You’re a very brave boy, you know that, Ryota? Grown-ups are scared of me. Most other children, too. If they find out, they might come and try to hurt me. I don’t think you want that.” _

_ He shook his head fervently. “No!” _

_ “Good. Then I’m your secret friend, alright?” _

_ “Alright!”  _

Komaeda, for all intents and purposes, had always been good to him. He had never done something without a purpose behind it. There had to be a good reason Hinata was only being held instead of being killed. 

But he still felt queasy when he waved halfheartedly at Chiaki. This was...this was bad. This was  _ so bad.  _ If only he hadn’t accepted that help, all those years ago. If only he hadn’t agreed to silence for so long that even the thought of opening his mouth was abhorrent. 

Byakuya shifted his gaze over from where he stood next to him. “You look unwell, Ryota.”

He shook his head, cold sweat dripping down his back. “I’m...fine! Just been feeling poorly lately, is all. The turning of the seasons always makes me feel under the weather, you know.”

He frowned. Crossed his arms. He was sure Byakuya could see the fear in his eyes. But his gaze softened, and he let out a breath, chuckling just slightly.

“Ah, you’re right. I forgot. Make sure you’re taking care of yourself, alright?”

He sighed in his own relief. But nothing was relieved. He was helping keep someone imprisoned. Someone these people loved. Someone who was more important to this town tha he could ever be. 

Would Hinata hate him, if he escaped? Would he know that Ryota had kept quiet about where he was and helped feed him? Would he be angry, that he had kept his mouth shut? Would his wrath be turned on Ryota? 

And still, he kept quiet. Komaeda wouldn’t let him escape. If he had lost once, he wouldn’t win the second time. And judging by what Ryota was being asked to bring, he was hurt. Hurt badly. As if Komaeda hadn’t held back on him, as if he’d perhaps...landed blows of his own. Hinata was strong, he knew Hinata was strong. He just didn’t think Hintat could possibly be  _ that  _ strong. 

Chiaki’s back faded into the distance. 

Ryota threw up behind his bookstore when she was gone. Nobody noticed.

-

Chiaki had never been one to travel much. She preferred the indoors, where it was warm and dry and bugs were less likely to bite. But it was autumn, the bugs were dead. It was still cold, her clothes surely not thick enough for this trip. The coat and cloak weren’t enough to keep the chill from cutting through as she rode. 

The trek itself, really, was just...cold. Cold and lonely. Hajime was alive, she was sure of it, she’d never been more sure of anything in her life. She would...know, she thought. She was sure she’d know if he had died. It made no sense to anyone else, to be so optimistic and stubborn about it. To think there was even a possibility of him being alive was more and more laughable by the day to everyone else. They’d already begun to talk about him in the past tense when she wasn’t around. Someone was weaving a wreath. People had begun to place aside a little extra food for her when winter hit. 

If Chiaki didn’t come back--came back empty-handed, or with a corpse, Sonia would send a summons for a new hunter. They were giving up on Hajime. She wouldn’t do the same. She  _ couldn’t  _ do the same. He couldn’t be dead. He wasn’t gone. He  _ wasn’t,  _ and she needed to stop letting herself think that maybe they were right and that this was useless, that she’d reach her destination and find nothing but a corpse. They were all  _ wrong.  _ He was going to be there, and he was going to be okay. It was blind hope. Utter, blind hope. 

She pressed further through the thick wood.

Stopping to rest was futile. She gave the horse breaks, of course, and plenty of them, but she refused to sleep or eat until she got him back. Chiaki was running on adrenaline alone--well, adrenaline and the need to get her best friend back. Bring him home safe. He was probably hurt, so she had medical supplies in her pack. There was a stake of her own across her back, just in case. Just in case she had to finish the job.

It was a long and cold ride, but the castle came into view as the sun set. 

“Dammit.” Could nobody get to this place in daylight? Should she wait? Would she be noticed if she waited for the night? Lights burned in the windows. Someone was there, to be sure. It was chilling, to think that she was watching. That Hajime was somewhere in there, possibly hurt. 

The window was open. Sound carried on the air, the acoustics perfect on this hill. 

Her heart cracked when she heard the voices.

“Come  _ on.  _ There is  _ no need  _ to be this difficult.” A stranger’s voice, faint and utterly displeased. And yet, it was just loud enough for her to understand. The hope in her gut grew, and she took a precious few steps closer.

_ Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. _

“Get  _ off of me.  _ I can bandage my own wounds--”

Hajime’s voice. That was  _ Hajime’s voice.  _ There was no sweeter melody to be heard as she collapsed to her knees. That was  _ him him him  _ and it didn’t matter that they were fighting, it didn’t matter that he was angry. He was  _ alive.  _

She had been  _ right, everyone else was wrong, he was alive and he was able to talk, he was able to complain, he was alive alive alive alive alive alive ALIVE.  _ And she was  _ going  _ to bring him home, no matter who stood in her way.

Waiting could go fuck itself. That was her best friend. That was her brother. 

She stood on shaky legs, grabbed her stake, and slammed the door in. The sound crashed into the space, echoing through the entire castle. 

Her voice was loud and clear, strengthened by determination and utter, complete  _ rage.  _

_ “Give him back.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! i hope you enjoyed this chapter :) tell me how you've been in the comments, if you'd like! i care about each and every one of you oh so deeply. 
> 
> -fen <3


	8. splinters in the fist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a reunion?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wtf thank u so much for 1k reads!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i am kissing all of u on the cheek :3

Komaeda had him pinned to the bed before he could even blink. There was something wild in his eyes--not quite fear, but certainly something desperate. This was out of his plans. He hadn’t accounted for this, it seemed.

_ “Stay here.” _

No.  _ No.  _ He knew that voice, he knew it better than he knew his own. Chiaki was here, Chiaki had  _ found  _ him, and no  _ way  _ was he letting Komaeda pull them apart. Well, it was a nice sentiment. One that didn’t match up with reality. Reality dictated that he was still  _ hurt.  _ God only knew how debilitating his leg was going to be when Komaeda cut him nearly to the bone. And he still kept trying to use it--walking when he, by all rights, shouldn’t have even left a bed yet.

“Get  _ off--”  _ Komaeda had his wrists pinned in one hand, not even breaking a sweat as Hajime thrashed. His shoulder screamed, but he couldn’t care less about further messing it up now.  _ Chiaki was here.  _ She’d throw a fit when she saw how beaten-up he was, to be sure. He wasn’t supposed to be this hurt--he wasn’t supposed to keep making it worse on himself.

“ _ No.  _ You know well why I’m keeping you here--you’re a danger to her. You’re a danger to everyone around you.” There was sympathy in his face. It only served to further piss Hajime off. 

“I’m  _ not a monster.” _ _   
  
_

“Now is  _ not  _ the time to act like this,” Komaeda hissed. He relented, letting Hajime go. Only because-- “I don’t need to restrain you. You can’t even make it to the door.”   
  


He growled,  _ growled,  _ and tried to shove himself up, get out of the bed he didn’t want to be in, make it to the door. Chiaki was out there.  _ Chiaki was out there, and he couldn’t leave her to Komaeda, because who knew what he’d do to her.  _ He couldn’t. He couldn’t get out of bed fast enough. 

He was already on the other side of the door, closing it. Pulling out the key to lock it.

_ “NO--” _

“This is for the best. I’m keeping you safe--I’m keeping  _ her  _ safe.”

He tripped, trying to make it to the door. His bad leg slammed into the floor. No. This was... this was awful. Wrong. Everything about this was terrible. Even Komaeda looked guilty when he cried out in pain, tried to get back up. He gritted his teeth--the  _ injuries  _ kept knocking him back. Keeping him down.

Chiaki was here, and he was going to be trapped in a bedroom. He wouldn’t see her. Maybe he’d never see her again, only hear her voice--no. He couldn’t think like that, he  _ couldn’t,  _ because he would see her again. He had to see her again. There was no way his last earthly words to her would be just a  _ note.  _ He didn’t even _ remember _ the last thing they had talked about face-to-face--it didn’t matter, because it had been nothing. Nothing that was worth anything, that was, and he needed to  _ talk  _ to her.

“Please,” his voice cracked, his anger leaking out into the fear, the fear that had been building since he woke up. “Please, don’t hurt her.”

Komaeda’s eyes softened. “Oh, pet. I’m not going to hurt her. I promise.” The kindness in his voice felt more mocking than any insult that had ever been slung his way.

It was a fight not to cry when the door slammed shut in his face.

-

Chiaki was seething. Hajime was here. Somewhere just out of her reach. Somewhere just where she couldn’t find him. She had a stake in one hand and a lantern in the other, trembling from the cold and her rage. The fireplaces were lit and roaring, but doing little to banish the chill from the drafts. This was where he was trapped? In a cold castle where the shadows stretched too far and hid too much? Where the animals kept away, their tracks turning back from the hill it stood on?

It hurt to think about him, alone like this. In someone else’s hands. Claws. She didn’t much care what they were, only that they trapped him. 

“Give. Him. Back.” Her voice didn’t shake (unlike the rest of her). “I don’t care who you are, or what you are. Give him back.”

“Quite demanding, aren’t you?” The new voice boomed around the hall. She swiveled around, desperately looking to find the source. He chuckled at her plain desperation, some sort of amused overlord. Her teeth gritted.

“Over here, love.”

She pivoted on her foot to the origin--a stairwell, about twenty feet away from her. He--the vampire, certainly not Hajime--stood on the landing, lazily sliding his way down the steps. He appeared to be unarmed, but there easily could have been a knife hidden in his cropped jacket. She adjusted the grip on the stake and pointed it at him.

He threw his hands up casually as he descended. “Don’t worry. You’ll find that I’m unarmed.”

“I don’t care.” She wasn’t much of a talker. She never had been. Pleasantries and small talk seemed useless ornaments to fill a silence that didn’t really need to be filled. Especially not now, when her objective was so simple and resolute. Find Hajime. Get him on that horse. Take him home. Make sure he would never come close to this beast hiding in ethereal beauty ever again. “I’m just here for Hajime. Give him to me and we can go without a fight.”

“And why would I do that?” They both took steps closer to each other, predators circling as they readied themselves for a fight. There was a dangerous light flashing in his eyes, despite his casual demeanor. It was almost territorial, how he kept close to the stairwell. So that had to be her goal, then. “Why would I hand you a pile of ashes?”

(If her hearing was a little stronger, she would have heard someone banging on a locked door from the third floor.)

“I  _ heard  _ him. I  _ know  _ he’s alive.”

His easy smile didn’t so much as falter. And yet, his fist clenched behind his back. A shot of nervousness entered Chiaki’s heart. He was a good liar, but there was no way he wasn’t angry. He would tear her apart if she wasn’t careful. Wasn’t fast enough. 

“Very well! It seems you’ve caught me, Miss…”

She recoiled. “You don’t get my name.”

He sighed and crossed his arms, face falling for the first time. “How rude. You barge into my home, demand my new pet, and don’t even give your name. Did they stop teaching basic manners in my town in my absence?”

Her heart stopped beating in her chest. Pet. His  _ pet.  _ The lantern slipped out of her hand, crashing onto the floor. Glass and candle wax exploded all over the room, the tiny flame snuffing itself out in the process. Shareds flew out and cut her ankles, inflicting her with pain she barely felt. She was white-hot with renewed anger, her grip on the stake the next thing to go if she wasn’t careful and fell too far in. 

Pet. He had called Hajime his  _ pet.  _

“How  _ dare  _ you,” she snarled, hefting her weapon and pointing it at his chest. “How _ dare you call him that.” _

He shrugged. “It’s only the truth, I’m afraid. I have no plans of keeping him here permanently, if that’s your worry. Once he’s trained properly, he’ll be let go.”

“ _ Trained?” _

“If you put down the weapon, I’ll let you speak with him.” 

Put it down? But then he could attack freely. On one hand, she wanted to see Hajime. Desperately. She  _ needed  _ to see him. Talk to him. See with her own two eyes that he was okay. Would she sacrifice her safety, just for a chance to see him?

“Do you swear that I won’t get killed if I put it down?”   
  


“I did promise the poor thing that I wouldn’t hurt you--and I do pride myself on keeping my word.” He chuckled then. There wasn’t anything funny about the situation to her, but she slowly lowered the stake. “I may be a monster, less than human, but I don’t break promises.”   
  


“Fine.” The wood clattered against the floor. “Take me to him. Now.”

“As you wish.”

He began to step back up the stairs, beckoning for Chiaki to follow. “Come, now. It won’t take long.”

By now, it was pitch-black outside. While it was bright and surprisingly warm (when the wind didn’t whistle through the gaps in the wall), she couldn’t help but feel chilly when she followed him down the orangey hallway. There was a sort of satisfaction in her when she left dirt on his carpet. If she could muck up the place, she would. 

Chiaki wasn’t spiteful by nature. She’d venture to say she wasn’t spiteful at all, actually. Live and let live, as it went. But for this vampire? She’d track as much mud as she possibly could. Down the hall they went in a tenuous silence, her stomach absolutely roiling in a mix of things she couldn’t identify. Fear? Guilt? Rage? A mix of the three, she was sure of that much.

There was no noise at the door they stopped in front of. (Fists full of splinters. A hoarse throat. Eyes that stung from angry tears. These and more, perhaps, were what kept him quiet.) It was simple and solid. A barrier to keep even the most determined out without a key that he pulled from a cord around his neck. He had a few on it--for what, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. They masked themselves when he put them away, hiding under frills and a brooch.

Hajime was behind that door. Hajime was locked in there, alone.

  
  
  


She (perhaps a poor idea, but she certainly didn’t care) shoved past the vampire into the room, her breath catching in her throat as she took in what she saw in front of her.

“Hajime…” she collapsed to her knees in front of him. He was here. He was  _ alive,  _ in front of her face. And  _ God. God. _

“What did he  _ do  _ to you?” she whispered in horror. He was a wreck--sweaty and bruised around his neck, his shirt coated in bloodstains. He was...he was on the  _ floor,  _ looking suspiciously like he couldn’t get up. If he couldn’t get up, then--

_ “Chiaki.”  _ It was  _ him, it was his voice,  _ and she broke down sobbing. Vampire be damned, monsters be forgotten. He was alive. She moved in front of him, burying her head in his shoulder and wrapping him in a hug. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I’m going to take you home.”

His grip tightened on her. She could feel the sleeve of her coat begin to dampen as he cried silently into it. 

“Ah...well...not to interrupt the moment, but..” the vampire started from the door. 

“Komaeda,” Hajime choked out, and it broke Chiaki’s heart in two, because of how afraid it was, how it shook with some weak rage. “Komaeda. Please. Just give us a little time.  _ Please.” _ __   
  


He sighed. Turned away, walked out. Began to close the door behind them, as Hajime only clung tighter to her. Clung like they were about to be torn apart. Not if she had anything to say about it. She wouldn't leave him behind. She _wouldn't._

“Five minutes.”


	9. fangs.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's not really fair, is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! hello everyone!! this chapter (every chapter does but especially this one) goes out to @yeetbixed on insta, who made some amazing art for this!!!! ilysm bix. also hi cornsketches i almost cried when i found out you read my fic

Hajime clung to her, clung harder than he should have. His shoulder ached, his leg screamed, his firsts were full of splinters from banging on the door. And yet he hugged as tightly as he possibly could, crying into her shoulder and marveling that she was even _here._ Chiaki. _Chiaki._ This was all he had needed to see--she was all he had needed. The world no longer seemed so big and empty and yet infinitesimally small. 

“I’m here. I’m here,” she murmured, her voice as thick as his. “I won’t leave you behind.”

He hiccuped, his fingers digging into the fabric of her jacket and gripping tight. “He’s not going to let you take me back. He’s not.” 

“I don’t care. I’m not leaving you.” There was something that looked like a collar on the nightstand. Unlocked. The bruises around his neck didn’t lie. But she didn’t ask--instead silently fuming. 

He mumbled something unintelligible, his body curling in on itself. Her blood cooled, and she stroked his hair with a hand, tucking him into her shoulder. He needed someone to cry on. Someone to lean on. Who knew what he’d been through?

Who knew what he had survived already? What was Komaeda doing to him? Was he being hurt--was he being _tortured?_   
  
“What did you say?” 

He pulled away, then, red-eyed and trembling. He looked at the floor, his expression dark and defeated. “I can barely walk, Chiaki.”

Her stomach hollowed out and began to flip around inside her body. He couldn’t walk--of course he couldn’t walk. He was on the floor. His pant leg had pushed up when he fell, revealing gauze wrappings around his ankle and calf. He carefully rolled it up further, wincing as he did so. 

“Did he--”

“Komaeda? Yes,” he sighed. “I...I don’t have the time to explain everything. I don’t...understand everything, either. I’m not really sure what the truth is yet.”

So he _had_ been hurt. And even Hajime wasn’t sure what happened. Something was...something was _so wrong._ She never should have let him leave. She should have stayed home, made sure he waited until he was sure he would have arrived during the day. So the kill would have been quick and clean, and he wouldn't have been _kept._

Komaeda. _Komaeda._ The name felt odd on the tip of her tongue, strange and leaden. Almost as heavy as her organs felt inside her chest--her heart was beating too fast. It felt as if she couldn’t get enough air in her lungs. And it only got worse the longer she looked at him--how _was_ she going to get him out? She couldn’t carry him--he was tall and relatively stocky when she was too short to reach the top shelf of their pantry. Especially with someone--something?--chasing them down if she tried to run with him, she wouldn’t be able to take him home.

Not until “Komaeda” was dealt with. There was a small silver knife hidden under her coat. She’d have to be quick. It would be difficult, to be sure, but she had no other choice. She had to. She’d be the hunter, this time, no matter how hard it would be. It didn’t matter that Komaeda looked human. It didn’t matter at all, when she knew he wasn’t.

“I know that face, Chiaki. Please...please don’t do anything stupid. Not now. I can’t see you get hurt.” Hajime’s hand closed over her own. His palm was wrapped in gauze too. She tried not to think about it. She tried not to think about the purple smears under his eyes, the exhaustion in his voice.

“How can I _not_ do something?” she asked painfully, shaking her head. “You look awful. You’re _hurt.”_

“I…” he trailed off. “Chiaki, I...I don’t know what the truth is. But something is…” he gritted his teeth and balled his fists as best he could, huffing a breath in frustration. “Something is _wrong_ with me. What it is, I-I don’t know, I have no idea if he’s lying through his teeth but something is still so _wrong_ and--”

“I’m taking you to Mikan first.”

“No! It’s not like that, I…” he trailed off, visibly conflicted. The fire in the lamps flickered, shadows crossing his face as he debated with himself. Her own gut only further twisted up when she saw how nervous he was. “I...dammit, I don’t have _time_ to explain--” he grabbed Chiaki and hugged her close once more, his breath catching when he moved his shoulder. His bad shoulder. But it had almost been healed when he had left.

_What happened to you? What can’t you say? What do we both not know?_

There was the sound of the key turning in the door. They both paled, and Chiaki pulled out the knife, her body seemingly on fire with nerves but her face set. A strange calmness fell over her as she gripped it in her hand. It had been made for her--it was a gift from Hajime himself. She’d not had the chance to use it before, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know how. 

The nervousness on Hajime’s face turned to panic as it reflected in the light. He...leaned away from it. As if it would hurt him. As if she would ever turn it against him. 

“Chiaki--”

Komaeda opened the door. Hajime shoved her behind him, the pain rampant on his face but shoved away by determination. “No. I’m not done.” It was the most “him” she’d seen him be since she arrived (granted, she hadn’t had long.), stubborn and protective. A brother, in every sense of the word. He positioned himself perfectly between them, shielding her with his body. 

Komaeda crossed his arms, looking down at them. Somehow, it wasn’t quite condescending, but his annoyance was clear. “I didn’t give you or her an option in the matter, pet. Make this easier on us all.”  
  


_“No.”_

Something about him had been different the whole time. She had chalked it up to him being stressed out, but the slightest things had been off. Somehow making him more...animalistic. It had fully manifested itself now, the way his lip curled and how he stared down Komaeda, how his reflexes were that much faster, despite him being in clear pain. 

Something had changed. Something was off. Something was wrong with Hajime. And it had to be Komaeda’s fault. 

“You’ve already lost more times than you can count. The girl isn’t going to change anything. You can’t even stand up long enough to even begin to fight.” Something flashed in his eyes, and he squatted down to Hajime’s eye level. “What are you going to do? _Bite?”_

Goading him. There was a fight here, context she didn’t have. Komaeda’s gaze shifted to her, lighting up when the confusion became evident. “You didn’t tell her, did you? About why we’ve made this little arrangement.”

“I had no say in this! Don’t make it seem like--” his breath caught. Sudden understanding flashed in his eyes. “...no.”

“Good. It seems you are capable of thinking before you act, then. Now, Miss Chiaki.” So he’d picked up her name. “I believe it’s time for you to go.” He extended a hand, looking expectant.

“I’m _not leaving without Hajime.”_

He retracted the offered hand and stood straight, looking positively irritated. “You both seem to love being difficult.” 

She stood—leaving Hajime between them on the floor. The knife was gripped in a resolute fist. She stepped forward. It was her turn to take care of him, after all these years of him taking care of her. 

_“Chiaki!” The other kids ran at his shout, leaving her in the creek. Hajime ran over, sticking out a hand to pull her up. “Are you okay?”_

_She took it, hiding sniffles. Her knees had gotten scraped in the fall. But she rubbed at her eyes and refused to cry._

_“Yes.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _He gave her a big, gap-toothed grin. “Come on! Let’s get you all fixed up.”_

Her grip tightened on the leather guard of the knife. “You can’t have him.” 

“So I’ve heard.” He took another step closer. Hajime pushed away, shoving himself over to the bed. Protecting himself? No--no, he wouldn’t run from this. Komaeda and Chiaki both stopped to stare at him as he _shoved_ himself onto his feet, sweaty and his feet unsure. But his expression was...God. He looked less human every minute. Anger had taken over his face. 

And Komaeda didn’t even blink. “How impressive. You weren’t willing to do that an hour ago. I thought we agreed on--”

“Shut. _Up.”_

If anything, he looked disappointed in Hajime. “I really thought we were getting past this, you know.” 

He shifted--moved faster than the eye could see. It was the last thing she remembered.

\--

He had knocked Chiaki out before Hajime could even open his mouth to warn her. 

“You--”

“She’s not hurt,” Komaeda interrupted, carefully gathering her into his arms. “Stay here. She’ll get home safe.” 

“You said you wouldn’t hurt her!”

“I didn’t, puppy. She’s only stunned.” He rolled his eyes, began walking out. He didn’t stop Hajime from following, only quickened his pace so he stayed just out of range. He was boiling in a new kind of rage, an anger that dulled his pain further. It was a cycle--he’d never be healed if he kept on like this. But he _didn’t care._

_He hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to Chiaki._

They were practically running at this point--Chiaki none the wiser. Fully knocked out. She didn’t _look_ any worse for wear, but he couldn’t care less about that. He was going to send her home--lock him here again. God knew what he’d do to make sure nobody else got in, _God_ knew what was about to happen to him--

“Please.”

Komaeda looked up from the base of the stairs. “You’ll find my mind is quite made up. We can talk about this after you eat.”

  
He was so angry he could barely breathe. _Eating?_ How could he think about _eating,_ when he could barely make it down the stairs as Komaeda walked off with Chiaki, saying she was _leaving?_

“You can’t send her out there by herself when she’s like that--”

“I have done this before, pet.” Any semblance of amusement was gone. “She _will_ arrive back safely. I find that you’re trying my patience.” 

He had made it to the front door and slammed it shut before Hajime could even get down the stairs. The door was locked before he made the landing. 

Chiaki was placed on her horse and sent on her way before Hajime made it to the door to bang on it with sore fists. There was a note pressed into her hand before she left.

The gate was locked as soon as she was on the other side of it. 

\--

Hajime had been angry before--but he’d never gotten even close to being this angry. Even hours after she had been shoved out, he still boiled with utter _fury._

They had been sitting on opposite ends of the dining table. But the chairs had been shoved out and they had moved, nearly chest to chest as they argued. 

“Everything you’ve been saying is fucking _bullshit.”_

“Someone’s feeling particularly mouthy today, isn’t he?” Komaeda was just barely taller than Hajime. But it was enough, and he scowled down, even the usual amusement gone. There was barely any room left between them--Komaeda had a death grip on his leash. 

His leash. Damn the fucking leash to hell and back. He hated how accustomed he’d become to the thing, how being tugged around at the vampire’s every whim was now his normal. He’d adapted so _quickly._

But the leash was the least of his worries right now, only one of many things Hajime could bring up to fight about. He’d never been one to pick fights, only finishing them when he had to. But Komaeda just made it so _easy_ to get angry and fly off the handle. He was insufferably smug and self-assured, almost always the calmer of the two of them. That seemingly unflappable calmness caused him to win most of their spats--Hajime always ended up eating when he didn’t want to (and even more frustratingly, he always managed to be hungry), always ended up being locked in his bedroom and told to sleep when he didn’t want to be, _always_ got punished for being inflammatory and “picking fights.” And now, he was certainly picking a fight. But that didn’t matter. Chiaki was on her own in the woods, probably still knocked out and protected only by her horse.

Beyond that, he would argue that Komaeda’s existence was picking a fight with Hajime. He was rarely angry enough to be violent. But with every fight they had that he lost, his anger only rose until his fists balled and it was a fight not to throw them. They fought nearly every time they spoke. Hajime had yet to win even one. 

Angry would have been an understatement.

And this time around, Komaeda was seeming to lose his cool as well. His face was set, and the usual ever-present laughter was entirely gone from his tone. He thought he had seen Komaeda serious before--it was nothing compared to now, when he looked two seconds from murder.

“Perhaps you should listen and do as you’re told like a good dog. Then I wouldn’t have to keep such a tight grip.”

He _slammed_ his fist into the wall, the brick nearly cracking under the force of his hand. _“I’m not your dog!”_ He felt like crying. 

“Then what _are_ you? You aren’t human. You certainly don’t act civilized enough to be one. Every time I so much as open my mouth you find a way to pick a fight. You won’t so much as eat until I’m practically pushing it down your throat. You’re on that leash because I know you’re going to try and run the instant I take it off--”

“Why _wouldn’t_ I run?! I’m a prisoner for something I don’t even _remember._ Every spare moment you have is used to degrade me! I’m an _adult man_ in a _collar and leash!_ I’ve been torn away from everything I’ve ever known saying that I’m a danger to them and the instant someone comes you--”

“You _are_ . You’re a danger to yourself and others,” Komaeda hissed through gritted teeth. “I don’t know why we have to keep going _over_ this, puppy.” Venom laced his tone, his fangs flashing for just a moment too long for it to be unintentional. “If you could think of anyone other than yourself for a moment, maybe you’d see why it’s not in your best interest to leave.”

He was shaking from anger--he would have walked away at this point, had he been able. But he was being held in place and forced to look up at Komaeda, breathe in his scent of spices and perhaps the faintest bit of blood.

“The only _interests_ you seem to have are your own. Who would have thought you were in the business for making pets out of people?” He was sweating, his vision blurry from how angry he was. He had no regard for what he was saying--he didn’t _care_ what he said, just that it hurt. 

A sardonic little grin cut across his face, no mirth or warmth to it. “You call me a dog, keep insisting that I’m less than human. Funny words from a leech in fancy clothes.”

The temperature dropped. Silence fell between them, and Hajime knew he had said the wrong thing. 

It was too quiet for too long. 

Then Komaeda _giggled_ , something dark sliding over his face. All of Hajime’s anger turned to fear in an instant. He laughed, sliding a hand through hair that had fallen out of place and coiled into his face. 

“Oh, just _look_ at you, all tensed up! Don’t be _worried,_ Hajime. I’m not angry with you, but you sure _love_ trying to get me there!” 

Before he could even try and desperately apologize, Komaeda grabbed him by the shirt and _slammed_ him into the wall, knocking the air from his lungs. The brick tore at his skin through the thin shirt, his hurt shoulder screaming and a cry of pain being shoved out of his mouth. This was the first time Komaeda had _ever_ used his name--it was always some other cut or insult. To hear his given name for the first time in God knew how long made his blood run cold.

“I’m sor--”

“Are you?” He fisted Hajime’s shirt tighter, lifting him further up until he couldn’t even scrape at the ground, his feet kicking uselessly at someone who had no intentions of letting him go. “Because frankly, you don’t seem very sorry to me. You only seem _sorry_ because I’m _finally_ dealing with you how you deserve to be dealt with.”

“Komaeda, I’m sorry, I--”

“ _Stop talking.”_

He fell silent immediately, gulping. It was the first order he had obeyed. 

Komaeda let go of his leash and reached up, ruffling Hajime’s hair. Petting him. “There we go. Good boy. Don’t you see how _easy_ that was? Being obedient? Why isn’t it _always_ that simple?”

He chuckled again, just as cold and petrifying. Hajime scrabbled at Komaeda’s wrist, trying and failing to pull him off. However trapped the leash had made him feel was nothing compared to now, as he uselessly writhed under a grip that was far too strong to come from someone who looked as frail as him.

“Oh, Hajime. What am I going to do with you?”

His veins were frozen. All the anger still remained, of course it did, but what could he do in this situation? Being upset was a moot point. It was either obey and apologize, or God knew what would happen to him.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, breaking eye contact. His skin was covered in goosebumps.

“And how are you going to prove that to me?” The way Komaeda cocked his head was almost catlike. A predator, sizing up its prey.

Hajime flushed, retracting into himself as best he could. “...I can’t.” 

_“Good_ boy. That’s the right answer,” Komaeda drawled, dragging a finger down his cheek and under his chin, tipping his face back up until he was forced to make eye contact. He felt his gut writhe at the praise—the dose of degradation that came with it. He shouldn’t have liked it. He shouldn’t have wanted to do anything to hear it again. Almost like a dog. 

“Since it seems you’ve at least started to learn how to be good…” he sighed happily. “I’ll give you a much lighter punishment than you deserve.”

Hajime was dropped to the ground, but he wasn’t given a chance to find his footing before nails sank into his arms and he was _pressed_ against Komaeda and the wall, their chests touching. He looked ravenously at Hajime, something deep and primal dancing in his eyes.

Hajime’s heart stopped beating. 

“What are you—”

Then the fangs sank into his neck, and it was as if the world stopped spinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i hope you enjoyed. you are SO loved. go learn something new today. 
> 
> -fen <3


	10. unsteady legs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's almost funny, that they can have their first real conversation after komaeda has bitten hajime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this initially was supposed to go WAY differently, so, like, if you're one of the people who saw the early versions of this chapter...sorry?

_ God,  _ he hated the taste of blood. And yet he craved it anyway, iron coating his tongue as he drank greedily. When he had first been turned, when Junko had sunk her fangs into  _ him,  _ he had expected that the taste would have...changed, somehow. Become more palatable. 

She’d laughed the first time he fed. 

_ “Nope! You’re stuck with that taste forever, sweetcheeks. You’d better learn to love it!” _

He’d never learned. But it was tolerable, so long as he didn’t overthink it. It was a sick curiosity, however--what did a wolf taste like? What did Hajime taste like? He’d fed from animals, before, of course--it was quick and convenient, if utterly disgusting. But he’d always left the winter wolves alone. A natural aversion, some could say. Ever since he had seen Hajime turn in front of him on the floor in front of him, he had wondered. It was an intrusive thought, to be sure, to bite down and bleed him dry, just to say that he  _ had  _ fed from a werewolf. That wasn’t his only motivation to do this. That would be sick of him, twisted beyond belief. 

Nagito had let his temper best him, and this is where it led them. Hajime  _ had  _ to be taught his place, as uncomfortable as it might be for them both. He had to be disciplined, and Nagito was  _ ravenous.  _ Even he hadn't realized how hungry he was until he bit down. Of course, discipline had to be exercised on  _ his  _ end, as well, for the fear that he would lose himself in the feeding and drain Hajime dry. He was every bit as trained as Hajime  _ would  _ be--hopefully he had learned his lesson. 

_ Funny words from a leech in fancy clothes.  _

His nails dug in deeper and pulled him closer. A  _ leech.  _ Hajime had done nothing more than reflect his own detestable thoughts. Hajime was right. He was nothing more than a baser being, playacting at civility. 

He was every bit as animal as Hajime. 

Nagito hated the taste of blood, and yet he didn’t want to let go. But his fangs were unhooked reluctantly, Hajime collapsing into him. Barely conscious. Nagito hadn’t fed from a human in years--this made him question why he ever stopped. Even someone who was only partially human, even someone who only took on the appearance of one, was more power than he could have asked for. For the first time since Junko died, he felt  _ strong,  _ like he could tear down the walls of the castle without a second thought. 

And he was angry. Good  _ God,  _ he was still angry. A human had broken in. A human who wasn’t even a  _ hunter,  _ threatening to ruin absolutely  _ everything  _ that he was trying to build. Who wouldn’t be upset? Chiaki and Hajime both had proved themselves difficult, far more than what they were worth, by this point. 

But Hajime…

His eyes fluttered open and shut, his hands weakly grasping onto Nagito for the slightest bit of purchase. 

All the anger flooded out of him in a single breath. What had he done--what was he  _ thinking,  _ losing his temper like that? Hajime was already injured, and he’d slammed him into the wall like it was no big deal. Guilt slammed into him like a brick to the head. He had let his anger get the best of him, and all because of what? Because Hajime was scared and upset? Because he was worried his friend was unsafe? Because as much as Komaeda knew he was doing what was for the best, Hajime wouldn’t see it that way for a long while yet?

“I’m sorry,” Nagito mumbled, carefully adjusting his grip and lifting him off the ground. “I went too far.” But the buzz still ran through his veins, and his mouth was still a mess. It shouldn’t have felt as good as it did. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

Hajime didn’t respond, simply curling into Nagito’s chest. He was still bleeding, soaking his shirt and staining it red. He couldn’t find it in himself to get upset about it. Nagito got to his feet and walked off towards the bedroom that served as Hajime’s infirmary. They both detested the place, but when it was generous to call him a wreck, it was an unfortunate necessity. 

This room was their most common battleground, where the most frequent and often the worst of their arguments happened. To call Hajime independent was an understatement, especially when it came to medicine. He wanted to deal with it all himself (nevermind that he couldn’t properly clean his shoulder or his leg), got embarrassed and angry when he had to admit defeat and let Nagito help him. It was understandable, to be sure, but when it happened day in and day out, it got old. 

But Hajime was barely awake now, much less angry enough to start another fight. Anger had blinded Nagito--but he had calmed down now. He could see the terror that had been in his face when he slammed him into the wall. There was no gratification to it. His guilt didn’t relieve itself when he unlocked the collar, either. He put it on the side table, well out of his line of sight.

“I’m sure I hurt your shoulder when I did that. I apologize. Do you need help getting your shirt off?” It was ruined beyond belief--it had been ripped somewhere along the line, the sleeve barely hanging on by a few threads. The fabric was more red than white, the strings untied and dangling. It may very well have been about to fall off of him. 

“...yes.” It was little more than a whisper. So he was conscious, then. 

“Try not to push yourself, pet. You’ve had a difficult day. I certainly haven’t made it any easier.”

“Definitely not,” Hajime grumbled, wincing as he lifted his arms as best he could. Komaeda pulled the shirt off, took one look at it, decided it wasn’t worth saving, and tossed it into the fire.

“Hey--”

“There will be a clean one for you after you bathe. There was no saving that thing.”

“...oh.” He kind of shrunk back after that, going quiet once more. Nagito shed his jacket and pushed up his sleeves, dunking a rag in warm, clean water he’d boiled beforehand. Hajime really was a mess, blood having been smeared from the edge of his shoulder up to his neck and matting in his hair.

“Make sure you wash yourself well later, alright?” Nagito said not unkindly, gently beginning to wipe him off. Hajime didn’t flinch or fight back from the rag this time. “I’m sure you’re disoriented and in a lot of pain. I don’t doubt that you’ll be quite upset when you’ve had some time to recover. But just by looking at you now, it’ll probably be for the best if you stayed in bed for a few days. I know you don’t want too--”

“Fine.” 

Nagito stilled for a moment before continuing to clean his face. His eyes were alert--he was tired and undoubtedly hungry and in pain, but he was thinking clearly. As clearly as he could, at least. 

“I…” he hesitated. Was this the right thing to say? Was this the right place to do it? Was this the right way to talk it out? “I don’t want you to hate me. I don’t want to hate you, either. But something is...off, between us. We can’t keep it up like this, can we?”

“Keep what up? The fighting? The isolation? The way you treat me and the way I treat you back?” The sharpness of his tone was more painful than angry. More like he was about to cry than raise his voice. “I’m not acting like this because I...hate you. I want to hate you. But even as...as insufferable and rude as you are...I know why you’re doing this. I don’t know the truth, but I don’t think you’re lying to me. And I hate it. I hate everything  _ about  _ this, Komaeda. Not you.” His voice cracked. 

“Silver burns me. I’m so hungry I can barely think. Even after I eat, I’m still starving. I can see things I shouldn’t--I can hear and smell things I shouldn’t. Something is  _ wrong,  _ and I...I know you wouldn’t do this to me for the fun of it. If you wanted a trophy, you wouldn’t _ do _ any of this. But you’re--you’re taking care of me, you’re making sure that I eat and sleep, I’m just...it’s all too much.” He hung his head, covering his eyes with his opposite hand. 

Was he crying? Was he hiding it? He took a shuddering breath. 

“I’m  _ scared.  _ Everything’s been ripped out from under me. And even when we keep fighting, even when you act like an ass and keep me on a leash, and even when I blow up at you over anything I can, when it’s all I can do to stay angry because if I don’t I’ll collapse right then and there--I...you...you never got actually angry. Not until now.”

Nagito searched for words, and found that there were none to be said. He just cleaned the rag, wrung it out, and kept wiping the blood off. It was all he felt like he could do to not break down beside him. 

“I just...Komaeda...I’m…” he was stumbling over his words, clearly getting frustrated as he couldn’t get what he wanted to say out of his mouth. The guilt in Nagito’s stomach kept growing. “I don’t hate you. I’ve tried to convince myself that I do, and...and that you hate me too, because it’s easier like that. It’s so much easier to think that I’m still normal and that this is a game or...or something to you--I can’t stand anything about this. I just...I want to go home. I know I can’t.”

Hajime sighed. It cut Nagito to the bone. 

“Chiaki is safe, you know,” he said quietly. 

“But you sent her off. Unconscious, on her own.”

He shook his head. It was inevitable that he’d find out. He’d probably figured it out already, by this point. 

“I have a...contact in Jabberwock. Should someone attempt to come here and he knows, he’ll follow behind to make sure nothing happens to them when I send them back. She has an escort home. Once she wakes up, he’ll be gone, but she’s being protected.”

Ryota hadn’t followed when Hajime went up--hunters were an exception. But he should have followed Chiaki. He should have been guiding her horse back down through the forest as they spoke. 

“But…”

“I promise. I doubt it means much, but she is safe. And I...I am sorry, you know,” he said softly. By now, he’d moved onto Hajime’s hair, the blood far more stubborn here. “I didn’t want to do this to you. You have every right to hate me. But I can’t...I can’t let you go, not when you can’t control yourself as a wolf. It is something that can be taught. I am going to free you when I know you’ve mastered yourself. And I’ve been cruel. I know I’ve been cruel, but--”

“Why?” He sounded so defeated. “Why switch between being awful, and taking care of me like this? Putting me on a leash and then teaching me the violin? Do you want me to hate you? I...I don’t know what you want. I’m exhausted.”

The room felt warmer than it had before. The light felt gentler on their faces. Perhaps it was just his imagination. “The only way I was able to accept being a vampire was someone being cruel to me. I never would have been able to come to terms with it, had it not been shoved at me. I...well...you aren’t the first person to wear that leash.”

Understanding flashed in his eyes. “Someone did this to you?”

“Her name was Junko. And not to understate my own repulsiveness, but she was...worse. Far worse.” God knew what she would have done to Hajime. Made him walk on all fours, no doubt. At the very least. 

“And?”

“She’s dead, now. It was fifteen years ago, when a traveling hunter and his band killed her. He was quite fascinating, you know.”

“And they didn’t kill you, too?”

“I was lucky, I suppose. I had gotten into a little situation and was away. I slept in an old barn for the night, and when I returned she was...dead.” 

“Oh.” The water in the bucket was the color of rust. Hajime was cleaner now, as clean as he was going to be without a bath. “I--”

“You don’t have to be sorry, pet.” He stood and poured the dirty water out the window, down into the garden below. Blood was a good fertilizer, after all. It would benefit the soil when spring came. “She was a monster more than you and me combined.”

“So you think doing what she did is going to help me?”

His shoulders slumped as he walked back over, carefully positioning Hajime to bandage his neck and shoulder. “I don’t know. God knows she would have had you doing tricks for her. But there’s no way to coddle you into this world. You are dangerous. You need to be tr--” he bit back his words. “--taught. You need to be  _ taught  _ how to control the lesser thing you become. We all do--did. I don’t hate you. I don’t do this for my own amusement. You and I are what protects the town.”   
  
“And how do you protect us?” The edge was fading from his tone. It was more cautiously curious. Nagito knelt in front of him, rolling up his pant leg to check his leg. It was the primary concern, now that his neck was taken care of. It was a mess. And yet, Hajime hadn’t pulled back. Hadn’t asked him to stop or let go. Something was shifting, shifting for real. 

“I suppose my impact isn’t much seen. But as best as I can, I keep other vampires and monsters out. Of course, I’m not the best at it--you get everything I miss. You’re their last line of defense--you’re their  _ hope _ . I don’t want them to be without you, or be left with an inferior replacement for any longer than they have to be. And, from what my contact says, they’re all quite fond of you.”

He finished rewrapping his leg. Stood back up.

Hajime was crying silently, tears leaking down his face as he looked at Nagito. It ached. It  _ ached,  _ because he was devastated (why did that hurt? Why did it hurt  _ him,  _ that Hajime was upset enough to cry?), and because there was, for the first time, a bit of trust shining in his eyes. 

“I want to go home. I know--I  _ know  _ I can’t. But I just…”

Nagito nodded. He took a step closer, and knelt in front of him once more. This was a bad decision--this was a  _ bad  _ decision, and Hajime would surely hate him for it. He hadn’t done this in years--since before she died. This was...this was a bad idea. But it was all he could think to do. 

He wrapped his arms around Hajime and hugged him as best he could, avoiding his wounds. 

“I’m sorry.”

Hajime collapsed into him, shaking with painfully quiet sobs. His good arm wrapped around Nagito, gripping him firmly. 

“I don’t hate you,” Hajime mumbled thickly. “I don’t want to hate you.” 

“I don’t hate you either. I never did.” 

“Don’t let go.” It was a desperate plea. “Don’t leave me alone. I can’t be alone right now.” He was clinging as tightly as he could. Did it even matter that Nagito was holding him? Did he just need to be held? 

His mouth was still coated with the taste of Hajime's blood. It was almost bittersweet.

“I won’t leave you. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi. i hope you enjoyed, and that i didn't mess this up too badly. as always, you are loved. go watch the sunset, or the sunrise. 
> 
> -fen <3


	11. gut feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chiaki is drowning in her own guilt.

Chiaki woke up in the woods. She was on a marked path--the one she’d followed to get up to the castle, the one that branched off to neighboring towns and cities. She’d be able to find her way home; by the looks of it, she was only two or three miles away by now. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes--her hand crinkled when it moved.

A note. 

Everything came rushing back in an awful blur. Hajime.  _ Hajime.  _ He was alive, thank  _ God  _ he was alive but he had looked like he was two seconds from passing out where he had stood. But he barely had been  _ able  _ to stand. She had found him on the floor, and he hadn’t been able to so much as get to his feet without help. The terror in his eyes was something she’d never seen before. 

Her vision was blurry (from tears or rage or sleep, she wasn't sure) when she looked down at the paper stuffed into her hand. 

_ Miss Chiaki and the citizens of Jabberwock,  _

_ Hajime Hinata is alive and being taken care of. He will be delivered back when it is appropriate to do so. There is no need to be worried over him. Make no attempt to return--I will not be so generous a second time. _

_ Ever your humble servant, Nagito Komaeda.  _

She crushed the paper in her palm. She would have ripped it--she wanted to. But it was proof. Not everyone could read (it was a blessing that Hajime and Chiaki had been taught.), but the person who this was undoubtedly addressed to, other than her, surely could. 

It took everything in her not to turn back and ride all the way back up. Hajime was still there. She’d  _ failed.  _ He was stuck there, with someone who had hurt him. “ _ Taken care of.”  _ If that was taking  _ care,  _ she’d be loath to see what his anger was. Her head ached where Komaeda had to have hit her, but she ignored it. 

She had to go home empty handed. As frustrating as it was, as demoralized as she felt, as  _ horrible  _ as she was for this, she had to leave him there. She couldn’t save him on her own. She had  _ lost.  _ She had failed, like everyone said she would. But she knew he was alive. He was alive. He was alive, and she wasn’t going to go back for him. 

The guilt threatened to swallow her whole. It was too warm pressing her in--she raised her hands to remove her jacket and found a cloak instead. Green. Hajime’s cloak. 

Someone had wrapped her in it before she had been pushed out. She wasn’t sure if it was a kindness or a mockery. 

Her eyes were dark as she rode back into town, pushing past everyone who tried to stop her until she was in front of Sonia’s door once more. Knocking was a pleasantry she didn’t bother with, opening the door and storming in.

She slammed the door open to her office. 

“Chia--”   
  


_ “He’s alive.”  _ Her voice was thick and cracking, but her hands were steady as she shoved the note onto Sonia’s desk. “He’s alive. I saw him. I saw him--we need to go back, he needs our help--”   
  


Sonia was quiet as she read the note, and read it again. Her brow furrowed as she took it in, casting a glance to the ornate family tree that sat on her wall. Her family had lived in and stewarded Jabberwock for generations; she was only the latest in a long line of men and women. Her eyes darted from the signature on the paper to an inked name on the tree.

Chiaki followed her gaze. 

_ Nagito Komaeda. Deceased.  _ There was a small portrait over his name. White hair. Desaturated green eyes. Even with pallor to his skin, he was unusually pale. 

It was the vampire who she’d met. 

“Where did you get this name, Chiaki? Is this...what the vampire called himself?” 

“Yes--” She nearly darted to the tree, pointing at the picture. “That’s him right here--Hajime called him that--called him Komaeda, and he knocked me out and when I woke up I was a mile away from town with that note in my hand--”

Sonia stood from her chair, walking over and placing a gentle hand on Chiaki’s shoulder. “Take a deep breath. Slow down.”

She didn’t  _ want  _ to slow down. Hajime was still there, Hajime was hurt, he was a  _ prisoner.  _ A trophy. This was no time to slow down--how  _ could  _ she slow down? How could she just abandon him to rest? 

“We need to go back. We have to go get him.”

“I know. I believe you, Chiaki. You look...terrible.” The touch on the shoulder became a full, deep hug. “I believe you. You know…” She took a breath, leading Chiaki to a chair. There was a tea kettle on a small table. She filled it and set it over the fire, letting the water get warm. 

Sonia closed the door behind her, then slumped into her own chair. “There _ is _ an old family story around him. When he was a boy, the plague came through and wiped out nearly everyone in my bloodline except him and his uncle. He survived only by pure luck, it seems. But he was only seven and he never...fully recovered, they say. So the uncle took over raising him, and they never quite got along. That actually has nothing to do with anything--that does not matter, I apologize.” She waved a hand. “The point is, he disappeared when he was 23.”

Chiaki’s grip tightened on the arm of her chair as Sonia continued speaking. “Nobody knew what had happened to him. Apparently, there was blood on his bed and the door was unlocked. Nobody saw him leave, and nothing was taken from the house. It was assumed that he simply left. Or, perhaps, was murdered. But my grandmother--his niece--swears up and down she saw someone...something...biting him, the night he left. She was very young, you know, so nobody  _ truly  _ believed her, but the story always stuck. “Be good or what took him will take you.” A bedtime story--no, that is not the right phrase. But if you are saying that he was there--”

“It was him. No doubt about it. And he  _ has Hajime--” _

The tea kettle whistled. She rose and began to prepare two cups, one for her and one for Chiaki. Perhaps they should have been opening the wine behind her desk instead. Sonia pressed the cup into Chiaki’s hands. There were dark circles under her eyes. It occurred to her that Sonia might be almost as tired as she was. 

“I know. I believe you. We are going to help you,” she assured. But then her walls fell for just a moment as she let concern overtake her face. “Is he...alright?” 

She shook her head, staring at her reflection in the steeping tea. “He wasn’t. Not at all. He was hurt--he could barely _ stand _ on his own.” Her hands shook. The tea rippled, distorting her face. “He looked like it, too. I wasn’t with him longer than maybe five, ten minutes, but I just knew that he was in pain. I’ve…I’ve never seen him that scared.” She set the tea down before she dropped it, gathering his cloak around her. 

“I  _ left  _ him there,” she said wearily. The shame draped around her, woven into the worn threads of the cloak. “Komaeda knocked me out, and I could have gone back. I should have gone back for him. Waited until the daytime, then…”

“You should not punish yourself over this. It is alright. Everyone wants Hajime to come home to us.”

“He was right in front of me. I was hugging him.” The office, which had always felt cozy, was now almost claustrophobic. It was too small and her feelings were too big. “And Komaeda came in. He told me I had to leave--and I was going to fight, I was, I swear. But he was…” she trailed off, something hot burning in her throat. “He was faster than me.” 

“There was only so much you could have done, it sounds like. We will send more people with you next time.”

She wanted to get up and go home--but how could she go home? It was too big and empty without him. They’d slept under the same roof since he was seven--how could she rest, knowing he was forced to sleep somewhere else, under someone else’s watchful eye? Perhaps in someone’s collar?

_ “Chiaki.” Her parents sat her down in the main room of the cabin. Their faces were set and aggrieved. She could tell even then that something bad had happened, that something was very wrong. But there was someone else--Hajime from next door. He was clinging to Mother’s leg, hiding behind her skirts.  _

_ She tilted her head in confusion. Why was he here; why did he look so scared, when he had never been scared of anything before? Where were his parents? What was wrong? _

_ “Take him out of the room, darling. I’ll handle it.”  _

_ Her mother took his little hand and led him into Chiaki’s bedroom, closing the door behind them. He didn’t even wave at her when he walked past. Father sighed, kneeling so they looked eye-to-eye.  _

_ “Hajime is going to be living with us from now on. He’s going to sleep in your room with you. And you have to be extra nice to him, okay? Even if he doesn’t want to play or talk to you.”  _

_ He always played with her. It was harder to get him to stop talking than to start.  _

_ “Why?” What about his parents? What about his house? Why did she have to share her room with a boy?  _

_ Her father had never looked so upset. “What’s wrong, Daddy? What happened?”  _

_ His hands shook and he hugged Chiaki close. He was a big and gruff man, who rarely cried or showed her affection. Fear spiked in her gut. Something bad. It was something really, really bad. _

_ “Something attacked Hajime’s house last night. His mommy and daddy...are with God, now.” _

_ Chiaki never wanted to let go of her father.  _

_ “He’s really scared right now. And he misses them a lot. He needs a good friend right now, a good big sister. Can you do that?” _

_ She nodded fervently. But she was scared, too. “The monster? Did somebody get it?” _

_ “...yes.”  _

That had been a kind lie. Nobody knew what had attacked Hajime’s house and mauled his parents beyond recognition. Nobody knew why Hajime had been spared and how he had slept through it, his room left alone for him to wake up and find what remained of his mother and father. It had taken months for him to talk again. The day he turned eight, Chiaki’s father got him a sword. When he was nine, a traveling hunter passed through the town. Hajime had begged him to teach him the craft. 

He’d never lost a fight since. Never, until now. She’d disappointed Hajime and her father--been a bad big sister and left him behind. Her father was gone, now. Plague had swept through, like it always did, and it took them both. Hajime was all she had left, and for that precious instant, she’d had him back, before losing him again. He was just out of her reach, and it was almost as painful as if he was gone entirely. 

“Stay here tonight, Chiaki. You have too much weighing on you. Let Gundham and I take care of everything for now.”

She nodded mutely, her tea getting cold next to her. Hajime.  _ Hajime.  _ She could do nothing to help him on her own. She had no choice  _ but  _ to wait. And it ached, it ached worse than anything she’d ever felt. 

She’d failed. 

_ Make no attempt to return--I will not be so generous a second time.  _

Komaeda had promised him back. But she couldn’t believe that. She  _ couldn’t.  _

“I don’t think Komaeda will give him back,” she mumbled, her thoughts a dark cloud overtop of her. “I don’t trust him.”

“I have no intention of waiting, Chiaki. I promise. You know the Neverminds do not take orders from anyone, even distant relatives.”

She stood up, the look on her face far too kind. She extended a hand and gently pulled Chiaki from the chair. 

“Here. Let us get you cleaned up before supper.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! as always, you are loved and amazing! this one goes out to my mlms, wlws, mblms, nblws and straight people too :)   
> tbh, i've actually been having a pretty rough time lately. but writing this has made things easier on me--i hope you guys have been enjoying this and that it might make your day a little easier, too. go listen to some classical music, make a cup of hot chocolate. do whatever makes you happy, because you've earned it. 
> 
> \- fen <3


	12. eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's a meeting in the tavern today.

Sonia called the meeting the next day. He hadn’t technically been invited to it (Byakuya had, but he tagged along anyway.), so he hung in the back, hoping nobody would notice him. There weren’t very many of them assembled. They’d all been contacted in private; Ryota had just happened to be there when Gundham came for Byakuya. It was lucky, he supposed, as Komaeda would want to know all this. 

Komaeda.  _ Komaeda.  _ He’d come out with Nanami in his arms, put her back on the horse that had by now seen far too much of that castle. 

“Make sure she gets home safely. Don’t let anything slip out, Ryota.” 

He had been angry. It was clear on his face, if you knew where to look. His composure had never fully come undone--at least not in front of Ryota, anyway--but he had been around Komaeda long enough to know where the cracks in the armor were. 

“I’ve never let anything slip out,” he said nervously. It was true, but it was easy to never let anything slip out when you were only watching. The secret he had to harbor now was so much bigger, so much  _ worse.  _

“You know the alternate path back, correct?”   
  


“Y-yes.” He bobbed his head up and down, his mind racing. Both routes to the castle had to be memorized, just in case something went wrong. But he’d rarely ever had to use the second one--it was far more treacherous and steep. It was only supposed to be used in emergencies. 

“Good. Take her down that way.”

He opened his mouth to ask why, then reconsidered. Komaeda was clearly not in the mood to be questioned. Nanami was on her horse now, slumped forward in the saddle, secured just tightly enough that she wouldn’t fall. Komaeda wrapped the cloak around her shoulders silently, offering no explanation for his actions. 

“You’ll find the main path to be quite unusable fairly soon. The gates will be locked. Leave everything at the usual spot, alright? Just take the other way up.”

Even with the rage setting his face, his tone was still soft and friendly. He’d always been kind with Ryota, even when by all rights he should have acted in a much more unkind manner. He was panicky and borderline useless half the time, constantly second-guessing himself, always making mistakes when he worked. But he was quiet and kept his mouth shut, and for years, Komaeda had been his only friend. He owed him. 

“Alright.” He mounted his own horse, taking Chiaki’s reins in his free hand. “Nobody will see me.”

“I know they won’t. I trust you.” He turned away then, heading back inside. “Travel safely, Ryota. We’ll speak more at our next meeting. I’ll explain everything then.”

Their next meeting was two nights away. He shook himself back to the present--he’d need to report on this. He took a quick survey of everyone who had been gathered: Nidai and Owari (well, the meeting was in their tavern, after all), Kuzuryu and Pekoyama, Tanaka, and Nanami. Him, and Byakuya, with Sonia at the lead. Nine of them in total, when only six had been properly summoned. Nanami sat next to Sonia, who had an encouraging arm around her. Her eyes were dull and purple smears ran under them. Nanami had always been quiet and slow to action, but her sluggishness was different in every way from her normal relaxed demeanor. The slump to her posture wasn’t one of contentment, but of exhaustion. She wasn’t quiet because she was thinking or didn’t feel as if the silence needed to be filled, but because she was caught in a clear inner turmoil. 

It was a punch to the gut. Everything about this was punch to the gut. Ryota was complicit. He trusted Komaeda’s logic and methods, even if they were extreme; there was assuredly a good reason why Hajime was being held. Komaeda was even about to tell him. But without that vital piece of the puzzle, Ryota couldn’t help but feel reprehensible as he stood to the back of the group. 

“What’s goin’ on, Sonia?” Kuzuryu asked, leaning back in his chair. It was early afternoon, and yet he still had wrangled something from the bar, sipping from his mug. Pekoyama stood to his side, looking akin to sculpture for how still and perfect her posture was.

“I would also like to know,” she said, her hand never far from the sword on her hip. Swordsmanship was her calling and she filled it beautifully, nigh unbeatable with a blade in her hands. It was entrancing to watch her train and spar--it was like a dance, more than a fight. 

The mayor sighed, the slightest bit of concern etched across her brow. She was every bit as skilled as Komaeda at putting forth a perfect, composed version of herself. Ryota may not have truly known everyone here in a traditional sense, but he’d been observing them for the majority of his life. He could read tempers and moods better than some of their spouses. And the mood in the room was confused worry. They wouldn’t be called together if something wasn’t important. And everyone in here, in their own way, was someone who could hold their own in a fight. 

Sonia whispered something to Nanami, who stood up unsteadily. Her voice was low and tired. She’d always been soft-spoken, but once again, it had never felt like  _ this  _ before. She was devastated. 

Ryota had always wanted to protect Komaeda--he’d be killed if Ryota exposed him. (Well, not that it mattered. Sonia had found out about him and sent a hunter anyway. That meeting had been terrifying--proving his innocence to an irritated, tired vampire was one of the most arduous tasks he’d ever had to put himself through. And besides, Hinata had lost. And yet, his mouth would still stay shut.) Even if Komaeda wasn’t fated to die, Ryota surely would have been jailed or exiled at best. More likely killed for working against them. 

This was the only home he had. Though he had isolated himself and had few friends and family to his name, this was where he had grown up. These people were people, though he had never truly interacted with them, that he cared about. The background was his fated position, but he’d grown to care about the true characters in the story of this town. That extended to Hinata, of  _ course _ it did, but his lips stayed sealed. There was a reason he was there. There had to be. 

There  _ had  _ to be. 

“Hajime is alive.” 

Even the birds outside fell silent. She wasn’t loud, but her words commanded attention in a way that they so rarely did. Even Ryota’s breakneck thoughts stopped when she spoke. She still had the cloak on-- _ Hinata’s cloak.  _ He would have taken it with him when he went to hunt. Komaeda had given it back to give her credibility. To perhaps give him some credibility, as well. 

“I saw him. He’s...he’s a prisoner. And he’s hurt. But I _ saw  _ him.” Her voice shook. Kuzuryu’s grip tightened on his mug. Nekomaru crashed into a seat, nearly cracking it underneath him. Pekoyama’s hands shot to the hilt of her sword. 

There was a universal shock and hurt across their faces. 

“You’re...sure of this?” Byakuya hesitantly asked, shooting a glance to Ryota. He’d let a little bit of his fear show, just enough to fit in with the rest of them. A liar was all he was. It was awful. He was betraying them all, just by being here. 

She nodded firmly, gripping at the cloak around her. It was warm in the tavern, as it alway swas. But she kept it fastened around her shoulders, no matter how it swamped her. “The vampire is keeping him prisoner.” Sonia pulled out a note and rested it on the table, letting all of them see.

“I believe Chiaki. And I have no intentions of waiting for this creature to give our friend back when he is finished with him. I called all of you here not only because he is our friend, but because I believe all of you will be able to help retrieve him.”

Determination flashed in Sonia’s eyes. She spread a map across the table, ushering everyone over. “He is being held  _ here,”  _ she said, stabbing a finger over the small representation of the castle. “It is a day’s ride away, but now that Chiaki and Hajime have both been able to make it there, I have no doubt that precautions will be raised. We need to be careful and cautious. Surely we need to arrive during the day.”

“When do we go?” Nidai asked, slinging an arm on the table next to him. “We can’t just sit around and plan while he’s there--”

“If the vampire was able to best Hajime, we need to be as prepared as possible. And I shudder at the thought, but he is likely keeping him alive for a reason.”

“He called Hajime his pet,” Chiaki mumbled. “His  _ pet.”  _

Ryota’s nails dug into his arms as he gripped himself, guilt and confusion tearing him to shreds. His pet? That didn’t sound like Komaeda--he wasn’t cruel like that. At least, he had never been cruel to Ryota. Was he playing a villain? Was he giving them a common enemy-- _ why?  _ Why hadn’t he explained his reasoning yet? What didn’t anyone know, except for Komaeda and Hinata?

What was the truth behind it all?   
  


\--

Hajime slept for three straight days. It was deep and dreamless, undisturbed and perfectly  _ restful.  _ It seemed the combination of the emotional turmoil he’d been put through and his physical condition finally caught up with him. Nagito left him be, for the most part--only checking to make sure he was doing alright when he rested. 

He’d held onto Nagito like a lifeline for far longer than either expected or even wanted. Once he’d calmed down, he’d nearly shoved himself back from the hug. His face had been bright red, frustrated and embarrassed and confused. 

  
  


“You should rest. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“Alright. Alright.” And rest he did, finally. After checking on him, Nagito walked outside. Something like guilt writhed in his gut when he took in the path in front of him. It had remained undisturbed for years. It was the safest way back to Jabberwock. 

He couldn’t help but feel bad when the tree fell, booming through the forest. He wouldn’t level the forest--that would make him a poor steward of the nature he had been trusted with. But the path had to be inhibited any way possible. He’d spent the last few nights laying subtle traps along the way. Nothing that killed unless the target was exceptionally unlucky,  _ certainly _ that nothing would injure the horses so much as confuse and frighten them, but things that were annoying and threatening all the same. 

Nagito wasn’t fond of this new role, of playing a villain. It may have fit him perfectly from the outside--he kept the village hero locked away in his old castle, whispering vicious words to the woman who came to his rescue. Calling him a pet felt less and less like a reminder and more as a term of some sort of begrudging affection, as he slept silently on. But from an outsider’s view, what could it have possibly looked like, but a sharp-tongued insult? What did Hajime think of it?

The full moon would be here in about two weeks’ time. Luckily whoever was bound to come next would arrive before or after, and he could beat them back without exposing them to the truth. He knew how humans were. Even if Hajime was their close friend, if they saw him as a wolf, they’d kill him. 

Or he’d kill them. There hadn’t been time before Chiaki had come, not enough for Nagito to even begin to teach himself to reorient his thinking. Accepting the animal, baser part of him would take time and energy. Time and energy that Nagito had tried to direct him to focus on recovering from his physical injuries. Only now had he finally begun to truly heal. 

The swelling in his leg had gone down, and the bruises were finally starting to fade. There was color in his skin again. He no longer looked like he was a shove from death. Why did Nagito silently thank whatever God was out there for that? Why did it make him feel just a little better about making him rest? It wasn’t as if he felt good about much of anything that had happened between them.

The terror on Hajime’s face when Nagito slammed him into the wall played on loop in his head. Why had he  _ done  _ that? Why had he let his temper best him--why had he been so terrible? He wanted to do better. He would do better. He was worthless and base, a repulsive creature of the night, but Hajime, no matter how Nagito tried to convince them both, was still far more human than he’d ever be again. There was fire in his eyes and the perfectly human stubbornness that never left him. 

It almost ached. How a werewolf--someone who truly changed form--could be so  _ normal.  _ How he could still cling to Nagito when he was scared, when by all rights he should have tried to kill him a second time. 

He finished setting tonight’s traps and walked back inside, something hollow clanging in him when he locked the gate. He wanted to return Hajime. He wanted to take him home. It was unfair to leave him here, in Nagito’s hands like this. But he just  _ couldn’t.  _

Did keeping him make him more monstrous? Was he irredeemable, for doing only what he thought was right? And even though he knew it was right, it ate away at him?

It was a question that he knew deep down only Hajime could answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! i hope you enjoyed. as always, you're loved! i hope your day is excellent and that something good happens for you :) 
> 
> -fen <3


	13. shoulderblade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wouldn't it be nice to take a three-day nap?

  
  


Hajime had never been a heavy sleeper, so coming out of a three-day near-coma was a struggle. It felt like there was lead in his veins. He fought his way into a sitting position, his leg and shoulder aching but feeling far less painful than before--like he’d be able to walk if he got up. 

“Good evening. Glad to see you’re finally up.” Komaeda sat on a chair near the wall, a book in his hand. 

His face heated when he heard him, pressing a hand to his neck. He was met with gauze instead of a collar. His memory was not so kind as to let him forget what had happened before he slept. He’d cried. He’d clung to Komaeda like a child to his mother.

“I’m assuming you don’t want me to get up yet,” he muttered, looking down at the sheets. His hands fisted the blanket, gripping the fabric just a little too tightly in his hands. It didn’t seem to mind, but Komaeda took note. He marked his page and closed the book. Shakespeare’s sonnets. (If Hajime were to check, he’d find the book was thoroughly worn and marked-up with annotations and dog-eared pages, favorite poems memorized and analyzed.) He pulled the chair over to Hajime’s bedside and sat back down in it, his gaze far less patronizing then it normally felt. 

The collar was nowhere to be seen. 

“I owe you an apology, pet.” The words were heavy and sincere, his hands clasped in his lap. He made no attempt to reach out or touch Hajime. Even the name didn’t really feel like a cutdown anymore. It was confusing, but he was...open to listening. Ever since he’d woken up, neither of them had listened to each other. And like Komaeda had said, they couldn;t just keep on how they had been acting before. The mutual destruction had to be stopped--before they did something that couldn’t be undone. Before the resentment grew to actual hate, as it was. 

Hajime really didn’t hate him, if he sat down and forced himself to reflect. He was angry, sure. But as much as he tried to deny it to himself (and try he did), he knew deep down that he believed what Komaeda was saying. He had believed him from the second he touched that silver knife. He opened his right palm. The burns were nearly gone by now, the scratch from the sword Komaeda had pulled on him was nothing but a thin scar, likely to fade before the year’s end. Would he be home by then, by the time the scar was gone? 

“I went too far. I should never have fed on you.” 

Hajime would probably still have felt faint if he stood on his feet. Komaeda had taken deeply--he’d nearly passed out. But he had shown restraint when it was needed, he had stopped himself. Trained. Taught. He’d taught himself--or been taught, judging by what he’d said--to control his urges. Urges that were often thought by humans to be unconquerable. 

“I’m not going to blow up at you or anything,” Hajime said wearily. “I think we’ve gotten past that by now.” They’d been fighting since they arrived. It seemed useless by now, to continue up with it. The words had been said, the deeds had been done. Why rehash it all, when it clearly was becoming more and more pointless? It was ridiculous by this point. 

“I am...glad to hear it.” He sounded guilty. “By all rights, you should be angry with me. I wouldn’t even try to defend myself--how horrible of me, someone so useless as to prey on you when you were injured. I lost control, and you paid the price.”

“I was the one who provoked you. We’re about even there, I think. But...Chiaki. Is she safe? Were you telling the truth?” Nerves jangled around in his chest. Chiaki had to be safe, right? 

“Yes. I rather dislike lying. Of course, I will do it if the need arises, but rest assured I’ve never told you anything untrue.”

“And has the need arisen?” Komaeda had acted differently around Chiaki. It had been subtle, a mask to his movements. Some kind of easy, practiced malice that was entirely fake. Just convincing enough to make it seem real to anyone who wasn’t around him. 

“Well...in a sense, I suppose. I’d rather not have your reputation damaged--the trust you have with them is very important. If I set myself up as their villain, they will fault you far less when it’s inevitably discovered what happened to you.”

Understanding dawned on him. He was  _ trying  _ to look bad. Give everyone else a common enemy, so they wouldn’t try to blame Hajime for being trapped. He was trying to protect him, in his own way. That thought made him feel almost guilty. Something stony dropped in his gut as neither met the other’s gaze. 

“Oh.” 

It was quiet for too long. But it wasn’t a dangerous silence like before. It was tense, sure, but in a different way. There was a new sense of understanding between them, sitting on the edge of the bed like a cup on the edge of a table.

Komaeda leaned forward, hesitantly reaching out a hand. “I am sorry…Hajime. I would like to mend what little we have. I’m afraid I’ve only made this ordeal more miserable for you.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” He leaned back against the headboard, his pillow swallowing him whole. He felt smaller than he usually did in the bed--but at least it was comfortable. “I just want things to be normal again,” he mumbled quietly. He took Komaeda’s hand--something like an admission of forgiveness. 

“I’m not... _ not  _ upset with you. But we can both do better. You’re the only one who can get me out of this mess.”

“And they said vampires and werewolves couldn’t get along.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, but there was no bite to it. 

Komaeda grinned, and the tension broke. For the first time, perhaps, it was...fine. He was completely fine, being around him. This...he could work with this.

“You’ve been asleep for a few evenings. You should really eat. We can test out your leg later.” He stood from his chair, walking towards the door. “Just give me a few minutes, alright?” 

The violin laid innocently on the table. Unsheathed, the bow resting beside it. He’d played it while Hajime slept, perhaps even had been playing it recently.  _ Had he been playing for me?  _ The thought settled in his lungs, made his breaths harder to get out. He had been watching over him. Still taking care, like he had been this whole time. 

Ever since he come, in his own ways, Komaeda had been taking care of him. Even though he’d arrived with the intent to kill, he’d been sheltered and fed. Taken care of--nursed. His fingers brushed against the gauze on his neck. As promised, he’d been given a new shirt--clean and softer than anything he’d ever owned, yet still sturdy and thick. Warm enough to protect against the drafts of the old castle. 

He pulled the blanket back up and sunk back into bed, willing to fall back asleep if Komaeda didn’t arrive fast enough. Sleep still hadn’t entirely unhooked from him. But he should probably eat. And bathe. If it had been as long as he felt and as long as Komaeda had said, he should probably just stay up for a little while. 

It was almost absurd, he thought, that he would even think to trust Komaeda like this. Why was he? Because he hugged him? Because he apologized and used his name? Because he faintly remembered Komaeda washing his hair when his shoulder refused to move--when he was about to fall asleep there in the bathtub? Was it because he had nobody else to turn to--no, it wasn’t that. 

Komaeda cared. He really did. As ridiculous and antithetical as it was, he cared. Hajime hadn’t wanted to care back. But he had, perhaps, just a little bit, ever since they picked up that violin together. There was something growing, between them. Something little and sturdy, weathering the constant battering from both sides. He’d be damned if he let it die now. 

-

Nagito had washed Hajime’s hair. He was making soup--simple and quick enough, good to warm from the inside out. His mind couldn’t help but wander as he cut meat and vegetables into perfect, even pieces. 

It hadn’t been but five minutes since Hajime had finished struggling to eat. Nagito would have offered to help, but the rational voice in his head told him that would only have made things worse. Some aid was better left unoffered. He was having trouble, but Nagito didn’t stare, didn’t mock him for it. He was in pain, after all. He was base and inhuman, sure, but he wasn’t without empathy. 

“I’ll help you to the bathtub whenever you’re ready.” It felt almost rude to say that he’d carry him. He’d probably had more than a lifetime’s worth of being carried around by Nagito. 

“...‘m ready,” he mumbled, barely above a whisper. His voice was hoarse from crying, dull from exhaustion. 

“Alright. Do you want to try and make it there with your good leg?” He considered for a moment, then shook his head. 

“...I need help.” Hajime was clearly too tired to be upset about it. 

He pursed his lips, standing from the chair. “Do you want me to support you, or do you want to be carried? Either way is alright. Though, carrying you might be easier…”

“Fine.” 

“Alright.” It was a more familiar position than he’d ever expected when he once more gathered Hajime into his arms. Perhaps he wasn’t exactly thinking ahead when he slashed his leg. Of course, he’d only been defending himself. But maybe he shouldn’t have cut quite so deeply. 

“Please refrain from falling asleep before we even get you there, pet.”

“Tired,” he mumbled. “Not asleep. Not yet.”

“Sure.” They arrived in the bathroom. 

“Wait here.” Hajime was carefully lowered to the floor, rubbing his eyes with his good hand. “I’ll go get you clean clothes, alright?”

“Alright.” 

It didn’t take long for him to go find said clean clothes and bring them back, along with a towel. His eyes stayed firmly stuck to the floor as he walked over, fully ready to drop them and go. The last thing he wanted was to invade Hajime’s privacy. 

Nagito was nearly out the door when he heard it.    
  


“Wait.” It was soft and embarrassed. He turned back to a bright red Hajime, who had his knees tucked into his chest, bubbles nearly slipping over the lip of the tub.

“Yes?” 

His shoulder was a wreck, and it certainly didn't look much prettier when it was clean of blood. The bruising had turned every sickly shade of the rainbow possible, the bite marks themselves closing up but the ones on his back still scabbed over. They’d ripped when he was slammed into the wall. It was no wonder why he could barely use the arm--miraculous that he’d been able to move it as much as he did. 

His next words were too faint to make out. Nagito stepped over next to the bathtub, every move calculated to not make either of them any more disconcerted than they needed to be.

“I didn’t quite hear that…is something wrong?”

“...I can’t do it.”

“Can’t do what?” 

He flinched. “I can’t...reach my hair. It hurts too much.”

Oh.  _ Oh.  _

“Of course I’ll help you,” he said, pushing his sleeves up and bending down to get the soap. “There’s...no need to be ashamed, alright? You’re injured and exhausted.”

He didn’t say anything, silently handing the soap over. He leaned back and let Nagito work, his eyes growing heavier as time passed in quiet. Exhausted. Hajime was  _ exhausted _ . Nagito didn’t know true tiredness anymore--the only perfectly human thing he still felt was hunger. And even then, it wasn’t a truly human thing, anymore. But Hajime still had a human body. Dogs got tired, too. And he was clearly about to fall asleep right there in the bath.

“Stay awake for just a little bit longer, alright? I’m almost done.”

“I’m not going to fall asleep,” he groused, clearly about to fall asleep.

And he hadn’t, miraculously enough. Nagito snapped back to attention and finished preparing everything, throwing all the ingredients into a pot over the fire. It wouldn’t take long to cook. Hajime had been at his most vulnerable. And he’d let Nagito in. He’d painfully swallowed his pride and asked for help. To think they’d been fighting so fiercely just nights ago. 

It was relieving, to finally be able to speak civilly to him. He had hope (what a lovely feeling it was, too) that they would finally be able to stay on good terms when Hajime wasn’t in unmeasurable pain. The kitchen began to smell like soup, rich and warm. Surely Nagito wasn’t a very good cook, but he wolfed down whatever was put in front of him. And even if he threw a fit when he was told to eat, he never complained once he started. 

Nagito sat down, waiting for the soup to cook. 

Maybe they could have a good night tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! as of rn, updates r probably going to be coming a little slower than before. it's been difficult to get chapters out consistently lately, and i want to make sure i'm giving all of you something that i'm proud of. as always, you're loved! i hope your day was/is as good as it could possibly be. goodnight!  
> -fen <3


	14. burnt tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit more of nagito's past is painfully divulged.

Komaeda wasn’t a great cook, but he was far from terrible. Certainly better than Hajime, at least. The soup was kind of bland, but it was hot and didn’t taste awful. More importantly, it was filling and he was  _ starving _ . Komaeda sat at the chair next to his bed, having picked back up his book of sonnets. 

“That thing looks like it’s seen better days,” Hajime said between bites. He wasn’t an avid reader, nor was he the most literate. Chiaki’s parents had taught him when he came to live with them, and he  _ could  _ read, but he wasn’t particularly  _ good  _ at it. There was only one person with a press and the materials to bind books in Jabberwock. But Mitarai and Hajime weren’t exactly...friends. He liked him, sure, but he was shy and didn’t talk much. He threw himself into his books and not much else, clinging to Togami like a shadow whenever they went out together. 

“Oh, I suppose. It’s rather old.” He closed the book and turned it over in his hands, running a finger along the spine. The gold filigree design had begun to flake off in some places, but the majority of the pattern had been preserved. A comparative design had been embossed on the worn cover, animals hiding in the pretty gold whorls. Old. Clearly loved. He handled it with care, as if it was fragile. 

“How old ar--is it?” He’d probably be better off not knowing how old Komaeda was. He had always been told it was rude to ask (though that usually was only supposed to apply to women, right?), and that was one curiosity he wasn’t quite sure the other would want to be forthcoming about. 

“If memory serves, it’s about seventy years old. Junko gave it to me, not too long after I was brought here.” 

“That Junko?” The picture Komaeda had painted of her didn’t give the impression that she was any sort of gift-giver. Given, he hadn’t spoken much of her yet, but Hajime still blinked in confusion. “I thought you said she was awful.”

“Undoubtedly, she was,” Komaeda chuckled, putting the book down and leaning back in the chair. “But she was quite clever about it. Everything about her was quite horrendous, but she was quite easy to give into. Temptation of her kind was irresistible. You hated her every moment she was around, but you couldn’t help but love her despite it.”

“That sounds...exhausting.”

“Exhausting is a polite term for Junko.” Komaeda had prepared tea as well. He poured some in his cup and took a sip, watching Hajime continue to eat. There was something oddly formal about the way he drank tea--like how Sonia would drink it. “It’s been fifteen years since she died, but I still look over my shoulder sometimes. Just to make sure she isn’t there.”

Hajime suddenly felt a little less hungry. (Not enough to stop eating, but enough that he slowed down.) “She was that kind of bad?”

“As in, she monitored everything I did? Yes,” he said, not seeming as if he was enjoying his tea. Did he even need to eat or drink? Logic and what he knew pointed to  _ no,  _ so perhaps it was just a formality. A formality for who? Him? Maybe he just--that didn’t matter. “She was quite an overbearing woman. She knew what she wanted from you and made sure she got it.”

He sighed, but it was anything but wistful. “I do not like to speak ill of the dead, but I am glad she died long before you made it here. Junko would have either loved or despised you. Either way, she would have destroyed you.”

He set his bowl down entirely. “So then, what did she do to you?”   
  


“Loved me.” There was an air of resignation to it. Komaeda stared down at his lap, laced his fingers together. “She loved me like nobody ever had, and it made me into this.” He’d pulled his hair back behind his head, exposing his neck. There was a faint set of bite mark scars, blending into his pale skin unless you looked closely. Would the ones on his neck scar the same? Would he have to live with everyone knowing he’d been bitten whenever he walked outside? The thought wasn’t reassuring, but it wasn’t as terrible as he’d anticipated it to be. 

“I don’t want to say I’m glad she’s dead, that would be disrespectful--”

“I’m very glad she’s dead, pet.” Were his hands shaking? Or was it just Hajime’s imagination when Komaeda’s tea rippled in his hand? Was that fear in his eyes? Or was he just projecting? Was there a waver in his voice, or was it just the quiet of the dying fire? “I am  _ very  _ glad she’s been sent back to whatever hell she crawled out of. Though, I suppose, I will meet her there someday.” 

Hajime leaned back against the headboard, letting the pillows engulf him. “You think you’re going to hell when you die?” It was a strange feeling. Not fear, exactly. Some sort of numb concern. Of course he would think that. How many monsters were in heaven? Would he go to heaven? He’d killed so many...things. Some of them were human, once. Whatever had made him into this was as human as he was. Did he go to hell? 

“Well, yes. The Bible burns me, you know. As does holy water. I do think heaven would be quite unpleasant, as it goes.”

Hajime hid his clenched fist under the blanket, but he couldn’t hide that he was paling. It was something he didn’t want to think about. Something he didn’t want to face. He’d come here with the intention to kill Komaeda. And yet he was here now, finding the very prospect abhorrent. 

“I don’t think you should have to go to hell with her, if she’s as awful as you say,” he pushed through gritted teeth. What was this feeling--was it... _ loyalty?  _ Did he care about what happened to Komaeda, too? What was  _ happening?  _ “You...aren’t all bad, you know.”

“I’ve done more than my share of abominable things. Wouldn’t you say just keeping you imprisoned is more than enough to deserve that damnation?”

Hajime wanted to disappear into the bedding. “I don’t...no! Komaeda, no. Don’t push that on me.” His words were thick and nearly fearful, his nails pressing crescent indentations into his palms. This was a conversation he would have traded the world not to have. 

His face fell. “I’m sorry.”

That was new. So he really was trying to do better. “I...I know you’re doing what you think is best. I don’t know what the best choice was. We probably never will. I don’t want to be blindly angry because you were stuck between a rock and a hard place.” Not anymore, anyway. “It’s...it’s exhausting.”

Komaeda’s eyes darkened. “I don’t mean to shove that at you. You are...injured, still, after all.”

“I just...I’m not the one to cast judgement, Komaeda. If you go to hell, so do I. I...I don’t want to condemn you or myself.”

“That makes sense enough. It was quite improper of me to ask that of you, pet. Especially when you should be resting.”

“I’m fine--”

“You’ve put yourself through excessive physical strain ever since you arrived. I know we’re trying to do...better, but I’m  _ telling  _ you that you don’t have a choice in this matter. You need to recover.”

“You’re the one who hurt me!”

Komaeda stood up, shoving the chair back. “You think I don’t know? Do you honestly think it doesn’t haunt me, how I tore you to shreds and drank until you were about to pass out? Don’t you think I want to see you heal? Don’t you think I want to take it back?”

His breath hitched. “Komaeda.  _ Komaeda.” _

His eyes were wild. “I’m breaking you. I know I’m breaking you. And if the only thing I can do to counteract it is to let you physically heal, so be it.”

“Do you--do you  _ want  _ me to hate you?” His mind was scrambling. “Does that make it--does that make it easier, or--”

“I don’t  _ know.”  _ His breathing was jagged, his shadow made massive by the fire. “The last time anyone loved me, they broke me down to pieces. I don’t--I don’t love you, make no mistake, puppy, but even  _ kindness  _ was a weapon, and I can’t trust yours, I  _ certainly  _ can’t trust mine--”

“Hey. She’s  _ dead,  _ you hear me? You said it yourself that she’s dead. And I’m not her. And you’re not her.”

Komaeda nearly collapsed back into his chair, clapping a hand over his mouth. He was hyperventilating by now, as if he was about to sob or tear into something. Something--something  _ red  _ welled in his eyes, as if he was about to cry  _ blood,  _ as if there was nothing else he could use to form tears out of--

“Komaeda--Komaed-- _ Nagito-- _ I don’t hate you. And you’re...you’re not a monster like her--” his breath caught. Did he believe that? Did he mean it like that?

“A fine sentiment, foregoing the fact that we are quite  _ literally  _ monsters.” He was laughing again, he was  _ laughing  _ as if Hajime had said the funniest thing in the world, but he looked so horribly afraid as he did it--like he knew something was wrong about this. As if this was so terribly wretched that laughing was all  _ could  _ do. 

Hajime reached out his hand, fitting it around...Nagito’s. He took a deep breath, readying himself for whatever came next. “Listen to me. You’re not...not a monster. Not like that. Whatever she was, whatever she did to you, whatever you think she would have done to me, it doesn’t define what you are. I promise.” 

Nagito squeezed his hand to death, so hard his wrist nearly cracked. And yet he held on, leaning forward. “Look at me.”

He just barely pulled his head up to look at Hajime, looking almost sick to his stomach. “It’s going to be alright, Nagito. I’m going to stay here and get better. I promise. And you’re not...you’re not breaking me. I’m going to be alright. You said it yourself--we’d be a lot worse off if you hadn’t seen me turn, right?”

He nodded silently. The tears hadn’t yet shed, but a residue of red began to swirl under his lashes. 

“We’re going to be alright. You’re going to help me control myself, right?” 

His hand dropped from his mouth. “R-right.”

“We...we aren’t monsters, like her. We’re just different.” That was something he wasn’t even sure he believed. But if anyone needed to hear that, it was them both. “You’re not her.”

“She wanted to make me in her image. She made everyone in her image.”

“You don’t look much like her to me.”

A silence settled between them. Hajime ran a thumb over Nagito’s knuckles as soothingly as he could, letting him process whatever he needed to process. 

It was a while before either of them spoke again. 

“...I apologize. It was unseemly of me to lose composure like that.” Nagito straightened his posture and let go of Hajime’s hand. “Thank you for your concern.” 

“You can’t be--”

“You should continue to rest, pet. Finish eating.” He stood from his chair, collecting his teacup and book. “I’ll be back soon. Try and go back to sleep.”

“But--”

“Don’t be worried for me. My burdens are my own to bear. I would hate to further trouble you with them.”

Desperation grew in his body--he was going to go back to hiding it. He was going to go back to his persona, where he was perfectly alright with being a villain. He was just as scared as Hajime. He was every bit as afraid of what was coming for them. 

“Wait--”

The door closed, leaving Hajime alone in the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, everyone! i hope you enjoyed this chapter! if you haven't yet, check in with someone you love and tell them that you love them! as always, you are so important and wanted. you make a difference. 
> 
> -fen <3


	15. tear ducts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> whispers of the past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the short chapter guys :( updates are probably going to keep being slower, at least until my personal life calms down a little. i hope you all are doing well! enjoy :)

Junko was always one for spontaneity. There was nothing more terribly dull than routine--where was the fun in doing the same thing every night? Of course, the new kid had certainly shaken things up by now--but poor Nagito was finally getting used to his predicament by now. He’d become accustomed to the collar, to being physically healthy, to whatever she would throw at him every day. Dull. He was becoming so perfectly  _ dull,  _ and there was nothing worse to her. 

She sat in her throne (terribly uncomfortable,  _ no  _ cushioning at all) in every way she shouldn’t have sat in it. It was never quite as intimidating when she sat properly, anyway. She had a leg swung over the armrest, a hand on the chain of the leash (also uncomfortable, with no proper grip for her hand.). Nagito stood to her side on the other end of it, uncharacteristically quiet. Someone who usually always had something about him moving was still as death. His eyes were trained on the door, far away from where they were. 

Boring! 

She took a yank on the chain, pulling his head down next to her. “You’re being awfully silent today, love. What’s with that?” 

He shrugged casually. “There isn’t anything to say.” His voice was light and unconcerned, but his posture was stiff and his hands were clasped behind his back. 

“That’s never stopped you before!” she pouted, pulling further until he stumbled and fell on top of her, the breath knocked out of him as his stomach was shoved into the arm of the chair. “Come here, darling. We have to get you back into sorts!” 

She shoved him back into a sitting position, grabbing his head and pulling it into her chest. A forcible cuddle, so it went. It wasn’t an unfamiliar position (Junko was touchy, but Mukuro was good at avoiding hugs that would end with a jab in the kidney.). Nagito had become the usual target of her affections. They were a tangle of arms and legs, him only faintly trying to pull back. (He’d long since learned not to fight back--it was more trouble than it was worth.) She aggressively smoothed his hair down, wrinkling and mussing his clothes. 

“And what is this for?” Nagito asked, unsure where to put his hands. He settled for the armrests. Junko sighed. 

“You really don’t know anything, do you?” He was skinny. Too skinny. It wasn’t as if she could do much about it  _ now,  _ but she kind of regretted not making sure he gained a little weight before she turned him. Then he would have been better for hugging, maybe. But--but! He had been unbelievably sick when she first pounced. For him to have even survived the turning was surprising enough. She should be grateful with what she had, after all. 

“I only know what you tell me,” he said, muffled by her...chest. And yet, as always, his voice was lighthearted and easygoing. It was almost impossible to ruffle him, it seemed. She’d always had to try just a  _ little  _ harder to break Nagito down. That’s why she loved him so much, after all. 

“Right answer,” she cooed. It was a little dull, sure, but it was refreshing to have someone that could listen and do what she wanted them to do the  _ first  _ time (unlike Mukuro.). “See? You have some real potential.” 

“Thank you,” he mumbled, hungry for any sort of praise. He didn’t really get much of...anything, back home. She was the only love he had, and she’d get him addicted to it, if it was the last thing she did. 

-

She’d succeeded. Nagito ran a hand along the old throne, her malicious praise still ringing in his ears. Years. Over a decade, now, since she had died. There had been nobody like her, nobody who loved as wildly and freely and terribly as she. Nobody could hold a candle to her. She’d fed on him, both on his blood then everything else she could have taken from him. And he’d given it up. Freely. Was he coaxed into it? Or was he so desperate for approval that he’d allowed anything she did without a second thought?

It was a sad reality that the second answer was more accurate. He took a seat in her chair (he couldn’t yet call it his own.) and held his face in his hands. His breathing? Unnecessary, yet ragged and erratic. One tenuous tie to humanity that he’d never been quite able to discard entirely. It haunted him. 

When his hands drew back, there were smears of red. It felt like overkill, honestly. To force him to remember, even at his lowest, that no matter  _ what  _ happened he would never be human again. He would never be loved like that again, he couldn’t bear to be loved. 

And yet, he craved it. Desperately. He looked at Hajime and he saw the faintest hint of trust and it tore him  _ apart.  _ This was what he  _ wanted, this had been what he wanted.  _ And when the slightest bit of care had been shown to him, he wrecked it all. He needed to be strong. A teacher. A guide. Not the frail boy he’d left behind so long ago. And yet, he always came back when it was the most inconvenient. It was awful and embarrassing--Hajime had seen his worst. 

There were tear tracks running down his face. Red.  _ Red.  _ Disgusting. He was  _ disgusting _ , and Hajime had seen it. And he...hadn’t mocked him. Hadn’t gotten angry. He’d tried to  _ comfort  _ Nagito, even when he’d been upset on his own terms. Even when he was hurt. Even when Nagito surely didn’t deserve it. 

Hajime’s hands had been warm. The traces of it lingered on his knuckles, despite how he had pulled away. He hadn’t wanted to leave. In fact, there was nothing more he had wanted than to stay. But God,  _ God.  _ He had wanted to stay. Not being alone after so long was so wonderfully painful. 

And he couldn’t let that pain in again. He’d submitted to it before, let someone love him so entirely that he drowned in it. Perhaps he was still drowning in it. He wasn’t sure, really. Not anymore. Hajime was...it wasn’t fair to blame it on him. But Hajime was shaking him to his core. Forcing him into thinking for the first time in a long time, thinking differently about how he lived (it wasn’t living, not really).

He was crying, in her chair. This wasn’t the first time it had happened, and it surely wouldn’t be the last. He had cried on her, before he learned better than to let her know how he felt. She’d stroked his hair, soothed him into some sort of resigned passiveness that was far better than whatever had been making him upset. And even after she was dead and burned, he still would cry here. It felt...right. 

He didn’t cry very much, on account of the mess it made. He wiped his eyes--he’d have to wash his hands. They were practically soaked by now. Hopefully it wouldn’t get on his shirt--why was he worried about  _ that?  _ He had to keep up his composure. He had to stay clean. 

Even when he was alone and crying. He had to be pretty, because he never knew who was watching him. He couldn’t disappoint...their names blurred together. Whether he was performing for Junko or Hajime, what different did it make? He was still performing. He was still performing so he wouldn’t get in trouble. He wasn’t weak for it, was he?

It only got worse when the tears got choked with the sardonic laughter that he could never hold back. It was honestly hilarious, how pathetic he was. How he was so  _ useless  _ and empty without her, without him...without him? How? Was it because he had a purpose, a use again? 

He wasn’t thinking straight. Nagito shook his head, still chuckling at himself, at the uselessness of it all. His face was soaked and sticky (disgusting. revolting.), but his clothes remained clean. His clothes always stayed clean, no matter what. Except, of course, when he had carried Hajime after biting him. That was an exception, he reminded himself. 

He didn’t remember much of humanity anymore, but he knew that his memory had been dangerously fragile. He would constantly remind himself of things, even now. Just to make extra sure he wouldn’t forget things again. It was a flawed system, of course. He couldn’t be expected to remember everything. His parents’ faces? The sound of his mother’s voice? Gone. Gone before even he was turned. He could no longer find it in himself to be particularly upset about it.

She was dead. Dead for almost his entire life. How could he miss a woman he barely knew, all things considered? Besides, that...that didn’t matter. That wasn’t why he cried. He had come here to calm himself down. He had made a veritable scene in front of Hajime, after all. Getting stuck on dead women seemed like a poor way to handle everything.

But sometimes he swore he could still feel Junko when he was working. When he sat here, he’d feel her hands on his shoulders, her breath on his neck. She would always be there, wouldn’t she? Or at the very least, it would take a lot longer than 15 years for her to finally take her leave. Certainly longer to vacate his mind. 

He stood from the throne. It would stay vacated unless he was visited once more. (Or if he had to come to himself again, whichever came first.) He wouldn’t lose control like this again. He had someone to tend to now, after all. 

He could wait. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, you are loved. i hope your day is the best it can possibly be!!!!
> 
> -fen <3


	16. cold feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ryota has a cold night in the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact i wrote the majority of this in comic sans

  
  


Ryota waited anxiously by the tree. Their usual meeting point, a few hours’ ride for the both of them. Just far enough for him to leave and return without suspicion, and close enough that Komaeda didn’t have to worry about being caught in the sunlight. There was a length of fabric knotted around a lower branch, easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it. A marker. 

His breath curled in front of him as he waited under a massive, glassy sky choked out by spires of trees and pine needles. Every movement he made came with a noise--crunching of dead leaves under his feet, the rustle of the grass as he adjusted his cloak around him, the snap of a stick he stepped on. It felt as if eyes were on him. Animals, most likely. They always had left him alone, but it never made him any less nervous. 

Komaeda was coming. He should be here any minute. He never knew _when_ he would show up--his steps were silent, no matter the season or weather. Ryota would have no idea when he arrived until he spoke. He’d always arrive from behind, no matter where he faced. So instead Ryota shivered and readied himself to be spooked at any time.

But it wasn’t as if the forest was quiet. He wasn’t the only thing making noise. A wind curling with the beginnings of winter whistled softly through the trees, rustling leaves and his cloak alike. What he hoped was a deer snapped a stick in the distance. The brook that wasn’t quite frozen over babbled quietly over the rocks, reflecting the half-moon shining down on him. It was clear tonight, the stars shining brilliantly (where he could see then, poking through the holes in the forest canopy). 

It wasn’t quiet. But it was peaceful. It was almost enough to set him at ease. He had done this--traveled up here--so many times it was as natural as breathing. Breathing. It was a privilege, really. Komaeda didn’t breathe unless he had to talk. It always caught Ryota’s attention, how his chest _didn’t_ rise and fall when he was silent. One of his more noticeable...nonhuman habits. 

Ryota never called attention to it, in fear of angering him. Though by all rights Komaeda was about as easygoing as it got six out of seven days a week, there would always be the off day where something sent him into one of his raving rants, about glory and humanity and always, always hope. There was something about hope to him, that allured and intoxicated him like nothing else could. It was almost as scary as his actual anger.

His cloak was too big for him. It dragged on the ground, making his presence all too known.

“You really should have that tailored.” Ryota jumped. So he was here, then. He swiveled around to Komaeda, who appeared from the underbrush. “Do you have everything I asked for?” 

He nodded, adjusting the parcels in his hands. They’d been innocuously wrapped in brown paper and tied off with twine, easily masquerading as book deliveries he was taking out of town. It was his profession, after all. And if demand had risen, wouldn’t it make sense for him to leave more often? While there were books in one of the packages, sure, the rest hid food and medication and clothes (Hinata’s own garments.). He’d stolen them, while Nanami was away. Nothing much, just enough to escape suspicion. But he’d been terrified the whole time he did it. Awful. He had been--was being awful. Aiding and abetting. He’d done all of this, done what was asked of him with blind faith as his only motivation. Now he’d know for sure whether that loyalty had been misplaced for nearly his entire life. 

“You said you were going to explain everything,” he said quietly, hiding behind his parcels. “Are you going to?” He hated how small and nervous he sounded. It was pathetic, really. He was an adult, and he was still as timid as the tiny child Komaeda had taken home so long ago. Awful. He was awful, really. 

“Put all that down. There’s no need to hide behind it all.” Kind. How was he always so kind? Why did he trust him so, even though he _knew_ he was keeping someone trapped in his home? “I keep my promises.” And still, he cast glances left and right, as if to check to see if anyone was coming. 

He’d never done that before. 

“...alright.” He placed the parcels between them in a neat pile. Gentle with them, he was so gentle with them. It seemed Ryota could only be so careful with things and not other people’s lives that he meddled in. Every day, they schemed and planned to save Hinata. And every day, Ryotas’ tongue burnt more with unspoken truths. This meeting would define whether he spilled what he knew or not. Whether he’d lead them up the forested mountainside and take the consequences or watch them fail and fail again. He was playing a dangerous game here--weighing his trust in Komaeda against the value of potentially these people’s lives. 

He sat down at the foot of the tree, Komaeda kneeling across from him. Their gazes met awkwardly. His eyes had always seemed oddly desaturated to Ryota--like someone had watered down ink. Everything about him was pale and nearly translucent, only highlighted by the black coat he wore no matter the weather.

His chest didn’t rise and fall when he took a breath to speak. “Hajime Hinata is not human. Not anymore. A werewolf bit him. And until I can be assured that he has full control over himself no matter _what_ form he takes, I cannot safely release him.”

Ryota froze. Werewolf. _Werewolf._ Teeth. Claws. Fur. Growling. A human who wasn’t. Hidden in plain sight. 

“How long--”

“A recent transition, be assured. He hasn’t hurt anyone and has no intentions to. But he did get himself a few fairly severe injuries in the process--of course, I gave him one of them, but--”

“So Nanami wasn’t lying? He is hurt?” Ryota didn’t find himself reassured. At all. If anything, this whole affair was only making him more nervous. What did “injuries” entail?

_He could barely stand on his own._ That was what Nanami had said of him. 

“While a wolf for the first time, he attacked me,” Komaeda said evenly, as if this was no more than a regular conversation about the weather. “The easiest way to defend myself without hurting him irreparably was unfortunately taking out one of his legs. Now that we’ve...started to get past arguing, he’s begun to heal up quite nicely. He’ll be alright within two weeks, if with a few new scars to show for it.”

“And why haven’t you told anyone that he’s--”

“Why haven’t you told anyone that you work for me?” he countered, crossing his arms. “It’s the same concept. I don’t think they’d be all too receptive to welcoming a creature back into their ranks. Or anyone associated with them, for that matter.”

“T-that makes sense.” His teeth were chattering, and he wasn’t sure whether it was from the cold or not. “I knew you had your reasons.” Even if he had questioned it. Even if he was still questioning it, whether he wanted to or not. But even if he had questioned it, he evidently hadn’t questioned it enough, because he still followed the orders he was given.

It was too cold to be outside like this.

“I assumed you would understand. You know me, Ryota.” There was such trust in his voice, Like a mentor, talking to his favorite student. It used to make Ryota swell with pride. The only approval he had needed had been Komaeda’s for so long. But lately it only made him feel guilty. Was it wrong of him, to be so reliant on his praise? Shouldn’t he have been beyond that by now? 

And still he stayed quiet. It was going to be a long ride home. 

“He is safe. You’re helping me take better care of him than I would be able to do alone. You’re helping him, Ryota. You’re keeping everyone safe by helping him.”

“I don’t feel like I’m helping him,” he admitted. The grass crunched underneath him as he tucked his knees to his chest and wrapped his cloak around himself. “It feels like I’m keeping people who love him away from him.”

Komaeda stood and walked over, sitting next to Ryota. He put an encouraging hand on his shoulder.

“Have faith that you’re keeping everyone safe. He’s going to be returned. I promised that to him the moment he woke up. It simply isn’t...safe to let him leave, yet.”

“I know, and I believe you, because you wouldn’t lie, but--”

Komaeda wasn’t breathing. It was a little more unsettling every time he noticed it. “I don’t like this, either. There is no pride in the path I’ve chosen. But try as I might, I haven’t been able to find a better way to do this. Hajime...Hajime has accepted it. For now.” Did he sound....guilty?

“And you’re going to stick with this?”

“Do I have much of a choice?”  
  


-

The chill had reached inside the castle tonight. Nagito was out, picking up supplies from his unnamed contact in Jabberwock. The prospect was more than a little worrying to Hajime--someone had been watching them for Nagito. Surely the intentions were innocuous; he knew enough by now to know that he wasn’t harboring any ill will towards them. But it was odd and disconcerting that someone had known that a _vampire_ lurked close by and had chosen to ally themselves with him. 

Nagito may have been more and more proving himself to somehow be someone Hajime trusted (even worried for), but he was a monster hunter, after all. His first instinct would always be distrust. Distrust, and for his hand to go to the knife that no longer rested on his hip. He wanted his knife back, just for a sense of familiarity, but he knew better than to ask for it. He could already predict how that would go over. So he sighed, took the book Nagito had left for him on the nightstand, and opened it. 

He wasn’t a spectacular reader, but it wasn’t as if there was much better to do while bedridden. Hajime had always been one to stay on his feet--he got restless if he stayed still for too long. (It always made resting after he got injured far more annoying than it had to be. Chiaki had more than once had to shove him back into bed when he got restless.) it was something better to do than sleeping, at least. 

Nagito had left the book of sonnets for Hajime. There were underlines and annotations everywhere. The pages were worn and the ink faded in some places. Loved. 

His mind stumbled through the words--pretty. They were so pretty. 

He never thought he’d be one for poetry. It was more of Chiaki’s gig, something she loved deeply and read often. And now, he was beginning to see why. It was gentle, it was sweet, it was loving. No wonder the two of them loved it so. It wasn’t easy for him to read--it was quite difficult, actually. But it was worth it. 

_When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,_

_And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,_

_Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,_

_Will be a totter'd weed of small worth held:_

_Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,_

_Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;_

_To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,_

_Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise._

_How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use,_

_If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine_

_Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,'_

_Proving his beauty by succession thine!_

_This were to be new made when thou art old,_

_And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold._

“Enjoying yourself?” 

Hajime’s head shot up to the door, his mind swirling with shades of green and cream. Nagito had returned, his coat slung over his sleeve. He had a paper-wrapped parcel in his free hand.

“...yes. I don’t usually read very much, though.”

He took a seat at the foot of Hajime’s bed, unwrapping the parcel. It was another book--clearly new. A pretty green cover, with silver embossing of a skull and dagger. That looked like...Ryota’s work. Was he the contact? 

By all rights, it would make sense. Ryota was somewhat disconnected from everyone else, but always seemed to be there. He always clung to corners or Byakuya, watching but rarely interacting. And yet, he seemed to care about them, in his own strange ways. He was quiet but kind, shaky but forever respectful. 

“Is that Mitarai’s work?” 

Komaeda’s posture straightened, then nodded. “He’s quite talented, don’t you think?”

“I’m going to assume he’s your informant?”  
  


“Do try to keep that to yourself, pet. He’s been doing nothing but keeping me updated on how you all have been doing. He’s been bringing up your clothes and food and medicine. Speaking of which, he did deliver some of your own clothing.”

“O-oh.” He marked his page and closed the book, placing it on the nightstand. “Is he going to…”

“Say anything? No. He’s aware of your...status.” So that was that, then. “But I do trust both of you to keep each other’s secrets, no?”

“...yes,” he said hesitantly, leaning forward. Now didn’t seem like the time to press more deeply about Ryota. He filed the information away for now, to ask more questions when the time was right. “So what book is it?” He scooted forward and leaned over Nagito’s shoulder, watching the light glitter off the silver threading in the book cover.

“Have you ever seen a play?” He passed the book along into Hajime’s hands. “This is called _Macbeth._ It’s a script of the story, and I haven’t yet been able to read it. I thought you would like to try it together?”

He turned the book over in his hands. “That would be...nice.” 

“Shall we start now? Or would you like to rest more?” 

“Is this another peace offering?”

“Perhaps. We cannot ignore our previous relations, of course, but I would like to try again. I do believe we should put the violin on hold until you’re fully recovered, but I don’t think reading is too taxing, is it?” he asked quietly. Almost as if he was nervous.

“We can start now, if you’d like.” 

“Alright.” 

Hajime moved the pillows to the side and sat back against the headboard, giving the book back to Nagito. “I’m not...very good at reading. You can start.”

He nodded, opening the cover and flipping the page. 

“Thunder and lightning. Enter three witches…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! the poem in today's chapter is Shakespeare's second sonnet. As always, I hope you enjoyed. You are loved! 
> 
> -fen <3


	17. eyebags

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> plans are well underway for a rescue operation.

Chiaki was known as a chronic oversleeper. In a time not too long past, it would be surprising to see her awake before noon. She stayed up late and slept long into the sunrise. While it was once considered a flaw and generally irritating, it was simply just who she was. 

She was up at sunrise every day. Even when she was home, the rooms seemed to be darker than they normally would be. The house seemed bigger than it was, when it was only her in it. The door to Hajime’s bedroom was closed, the window securely shut. She hadn’t the nerve to go in, knowing where he was. She didn’t spend much time at all in her house--more often than not, the lamps were blown out and the hearth was dark. She’d sleep fitfully in her own bed and eat alone, then go over to Sonia and Gundham’s home.

The meetings were held constantly and secretly. Souda was hard at work, forging new weapons and repairing ones that hadn’t seen use in years. He worked tirelessly, hammering away while coated in sweat and burns running up his forearms. As everyone pored over maps and packed away, they planned and planned. 

Dark marks ran under everyone’s eyes. It was universally understood that nobody was sleeping well, least of all Chiaki. (Whenever she closed her eyes to rest, all she could see was him and the agony in his face when he shoved himself onto his feet between her and Komaeda. His voice had cracked. He’d cried--sobbed--into her shoulder. In ways she hadn’t seen since her parents died.)

After the first few days, they’d all decided to mutually sleep at Sonia and Gundham’s house together, slumped in chairs and draped over armrests. It was a rare moment of rest. Peko and Fuyuhiko were currently curled up at opposite ends of the couch, Nekomaru snoring next to Akane in the guest bedroom. Every waking moment was used to plan, prepare, and strategize. So when they all mutually collapsed, the house would go quiet in an instant. Sonia and Gundham themselves slept in their own bedroom (they had offered it to everyone else, of course, but they’d all refused), their door left cracked in case they were needed. Togami had his head down on the table, sleeping silently next to the path he was carefully plotting on the map. 

Only Chiaki remained awake. She had laid down on the rug with a blanket and pillow and would have been content to sleep there, had she been here under any other circumstance. Hajime’s cloak was still wrapped around her, drowning her in sturdy green fabric. It was irrational, perhaps, to cling onto an object like this, but it was all she had of him when she knew she couldn’t bear to go into his room alone. Maybe it would’ve been better if she hadn’t been able to see him--the terror in his face wouldn’t continuously flash before her.

But wouldn’t it be even worse if she had only heard his voice? Wouldn’t it have been a thousand times more terrible if she had believed Komaeda at face value and thought he wasn’t even there? Komaeda would have returned him eventually, she was sure, if she hadn’t intervened. (No, she wasn’t sure. Nobody, least of all her, knew what he was thinking.) But surely now he’d be kept longer out of pure spite. And even if he was going to return Hajime, who knew in what state he’d be brought back in? 

_ Pet.  _ The word ricocheted around her mind as she pulled the blanket around her and turned over. She curled up smaller, conserving her body heat. He had called him a pet. There had been something so utterly, disgustingly  _ smug  _ about it. It didn’t even matter too much that it was Hajime when he pulled that word out. Had he called anyone his pet, she would have acted the same. 

They were going to get him back. Surely, they were going to get him back. And she was going to make sure Komaeda felt a world of pain before they killed him. Now, she wasn’t a hunter, but she had grown up with one. She may have been short and generally inactive, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t hold her own in a fight. He relayed much of what he learned to her, making sure she could be safe when he wasn’t there or if something were to happen to him. 

The knife he had gifted her stayed on her at all times, even before he was gone. It just felt right to carry it with her. Having the cape and knife felt like little pieces of him remained, even when he was a day’s ride away. 

She couldn’t deny that she was nervous. She was determined to rescue him, everyone was, but she was absolutely sure that Komaeda wouldn’t let them get in so easily a second time. She’d brought it up the second they started planning. 

“Two people have gotten there already. I…” she paused, pursing her lips, trying to find the right words before she continued. “I don’t think he would leave himself so unguarded, now that me and Hajime were able to get in.”

“And based on what you’ve said and that note you brought home,” Nekomaru said, gesturing to said note (tacked up to the wall with a knife, courtesy of Fuyuhiko.), “he’s pretty serious about keepin’ Hinata up there. We’ll have to be real careful when we do eventually go up.”

“There will likely be inhibitions placed to meet us.” Peko, as calm as ever, kept an even face as she spoke. “If Hinata himself lost, we have to have every guard up.” The word strapped to her back shone in the candlelight. Her typical opponents were fellow humans. But she was readying herself to swap the blade out for one made of silver.

“It is a perilous journey for our mounts, indeed,” Gundham added, casting a glance out the window to the stable a few buildings away. “The road is rocky and uphill, sure to test us at every turn, and the weather is only worsening. If we wish to dispel this blight upon our lands and safely return our hunter, we must move with haste.” 

“We can’t rush in, but we shouldn’t dally.” Sonia placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder, taking her seat next to him. “We’ll make our move before the month’s end.”

Month’s end was less than two weeks away. It felt blisteringly far away now, but it was going to creep up on her. The fire burned low, casting gentle scarlet light and shadows over them all. They were all quiet, and yet she knew their sleep was fitful and light. So she stayed quiet to not disturb them. 

At least it was warm. Wind whistled against the windowpanes, rattling the glass. And yet the cold stayed banished from the house, heat radiating from both the amount of people sleeping in it and the big fireplace the majority of them had gathered around. It felt strangely like the night after a holiday, when the dishes were washed and the gifts exchanged. The mutual exhaustion swept over them all, but it wasn’t content and cozy like those special occasions. It was tired and resigned. 

She wondered how he was sleeping. He probably was awake too, now. Vampires had to live in the night--so he’d be living in the night. She had been too distracted by everything else that she couldn’t remember whether his freckles had faded or not. If they hadn’t when she had gone, they would have been almost gone by now. 

She shifted onto her back, staring at the ceiling. The wood slotted together neatly like puzzle pieces. Each and every piece had its’ place, and they all performed their job well. That was how it had been in Jabberwock before. But now that Hajime was gone--God, she was dwelling on it. She wanted to think about something, anything else.

But the guilt consumed her every waking moment. It chimed in the back of her head that logically there was nothing she could have done. And yet she wished so deeply that she had gone back and just  _ waited  _ for the daylight so she could destroy him once and for all. 

Chiaki, by nature, wasn’t very vindictive. It was much easier just to let go and talk things out, rather than holding a grudge. She’d happily count this as a special circumstance. She  _ despised  _ Komaeda for this, more than anything in the world. His snide reassurance left her furious.

_ Pet. Pet. Pet. Pet. Pet.  _

If only she had been just a little faster. If she had moved while Hajime had their attention, she would have been able to best him. And even as beaten-up as he had been, she would have gotten him home. If. All of these “ifs” ran wild and uninhibited. She was going to regret not moving faster. She was going to regret leaving him alone. 

She didn’t regret that she had enlisted others to help. They weren’t leaving him behind. They were simply planning, calculating a careful strike against Komaeda. Making sure nothing would go wrong. But it had gone wrong for Hajime. It had gone wrong for Chiaki. What was to say that it wouldn’t go long a third time?

What if it didn’t work again? What if they came home without him?

The horrible thought ricocheted around in her mind as she fell into a fitful sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiiiiiiii lovelies as always i hope you enjoyed sorry for a short chapter i have a teensy bit of writer's block lol anyway you are so very loved! you matter and have worth! i hope you take care of yourself today!
> 
> -fen <3


	18. palm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> confessionals.

The candle burned low by the time Nagito closed the book. They’d gotten far deeper in than either had expected, immediately feeling sucked into the Scottish highlands. When he finally looked up, he was almost surprised not to be on a misty hillside.

“I find that I quite like Lady Macbeth,” he said, placing the book on the nightstand. “She certainly has her goals in order.” 

“That’s one way to put it.” Hajime had slowly slipped from leaning against the headboard to laying back down as the night had passed on. He had extra pillows under his bad leg and shoulder, creating a rather lumpy frame under the blanket. “I don’t think I’d like to be married to her, though.”

He slid his gaze back over to the other, the girl--Chiaki--who had come before flashing briefly in his mind. Wife? Lover? Simply a friend? They hadn’t made it clear, other than that there was a fierce devotion and love there. He hadn’t even fully considered the possibility--but Hajime was an adult. Did he have a wife? A family back home, that he was being kept from? How could he not have thought of this before? Why did the idea of a wife make his heart just a bit heavier-- _ what? _ Where would that thought even come from?

His stomach dropped. 

“Do you...have a wife? A family? The girl, was she…”

His expression sobered, and he laid an arm across his stomach. “Chiaki? She’s my best friend. Basically my sister. Her family raised me. Not that her parents are...still alive, but...yes. She’s my family. I’m not married or anything. It never really was something that I even considered.”

Shame overtook him when he found himself to be  _ relieved  _ that Hajime was unmarried. Not a lot of family either, it seemed. But that was, if anything, even more upsetting. Nagito knew what it was like to lose family--good and bad. (Was Junko family? Did she count as a deranged sister or mother? Did it count as loss when he could barely recall his parents’ faces, much less their voices and how they treated him? And yet, it was still loss.)

“Why not?” he asked, leaning forward in his chair. “I’m sure there were plenty of women there who would have made you more than happy.”

He sighed, eyes finding the patterns of the stones in the ceiling. “I already put my friends and Chiaki through enough when I leave. They never know if I’m going to come back--I can’t even imagine what’s going on at home now.”

Nagito could. They were planning a much larger rescue. And yet, his stomach squirmed when he considered bringing it up, knowing he’d been actively working against it when Hajime took his rest. He could only hope that the strange, cursed luck that had twisted through his not-quite-life would make it so they didn’t arrive when the moon once more was full.

But that luck was a cruel, wry thing. He had to prepare himself for that worst. (And once Hajime was recovered enough, he’d have to start preparing  _ him  _ for his next bout.)

“I don’t want to double that effect on a wife--or God, if I ever had children. I know what it’s like to--” he stopped himself, his eyes wider than they were before. His skin paled, and a sweat had begun to bead on his brow. He took a deep breath, screwing his eyes closed. “...I don’t want to put children through the idea that their father may not come back home every time he leaves.”

Nagito scooted his chair a little closer. There was a story there, hidden in between the lines of what he had and hadn’t said.  _ He was raised by the girl’s parents. He stopped himself when he was talking about being a parent.  _

“I don’t want to pry. Feel free to not tell me, but...you lost your parents too, didn’t you?”

He visibly deflated, sinking into the sheets. “I was seven.”

“Disease?” No. That couldn’t be right. Not with the way he talked about it.

“That was what killed Chiaki’s parents. I was 20 by then, though. I...I actually don’t know what happened. I’ve blocked out most of those memories, but it was out of nowhere. All I really remember is...walking to Chiaki’s house and knocking on the door. I had to be covered in blood or something, because her mother screamed when she saw me.”

“That must have been quite an ordeal.” 

He sighed. “Her father went over with his axe. They lied to me and Chiaki for a long time and said whatever killed Mom and Dad, he dealt with. But…”

“But?” he asked hesitantly. “Don’t push yourself too far. You don’t have to open up if you aren’t comfortable with it.” 

Hajime was quiet for a while. The silence swirled thickly around them, a sort of grey mist settling over them both. He settled back in his chair, giving the man his space and privacy.

“...they never caught it. Nobody knows what killed them, or why I got left alone. But it never showed up again.”

“Did you never try to catch it yourself?” The question burst out of his mouth before he could stop himself. It wasn’t meant to be harmful, but Nagito had never been particularly adept at navigating interpersonal conversation. The proficiency he had gained had been drilled into him by Junko (his uncle before that), but it hadn’t often been used, especially not as of the last decade or so. For almost 20 years, the only person he had spoken to other than himself was Ryota. He grimaced. “...my apologies. That was rude.” A learned apology. It didn’t make it any less sincere, of course, but he still struggled with knowing social boundaries.

It had often been as if everyone had been taught the rules to conversation but him. Sociality was a mystery to him, certainly not helped by his frail human health when he...had been human. In both life and this purgatory he now existed in, he was often solitary. To speak like this, to even have the opportunity to fumble and apologize, was a gift. 

He was more and more glad that it was Hajime that he was talking to. He wasn’t sure why. 

“It’s alright. I don’t remember enough to even know what I would have to look for. I know I saw their bodies--I was covered in their blood and everything--but that was just told to me. I pushed out...a lot. I have this big gap in my memory from around when they died to about...a year later. I don’t remember any of it. People just...said that I was like a ghost.” 

“I...can understand that. I wouldn’t claim to know your pain, but...my parents died when I was very young, as well.” His hands clasped in his lap. Hajime turned his head, facing Nagito. There was something almost soft, in his face. His freckles had begun to fade. But they still ran across his cheeks and the bridge of nose like little starbursts, slowly growing fainter as time passed. 

There had been a time only days ago when his features would have been hard and set with anger. But now he had softened, something sympathetic shining in his eyes. 

“Same pain, huh. It’s not something you ever get over, is it?” He sounded tired. 

“It will ease with time. But there is a...hole, there. I can hardly recall my mother’s face, and I miss her still.”

“I’m starting to forget too, I think,” he said resignedly. “I don’t want to forget. We don’t have any portraits or anything--I don’t have any siblings. All the people who knew them are dead...or they’re going to die, or they’re going to leave. There’s no memory of them. They’ll be gone when I’m gone. And then the same thing will happen to me. I’ll just be gone.”

Mortality. A blessing and a curse all in one that had been removed from Nagito entirely. But he couldn’t help but be reminded of it whenever he looked at Hajime--the flush of his skin, the bruises hidden under the bandaging. He was perfectly, achingly finite. The brown in his hair would fade. His careful and deft fingers would grow withered and arthritic. He was going to age and fail. He was a flash in the pan. Nobody like him would come after him. 

And maybe it made him just a little beautiful to Nagito.

He hesitantly stood from his chair and sat on the bed next to Hajime. “I could always remember them for you, you know. I’m not blessed with the greatest memory, but I highly doubt I’ll be forgetting you. And if it’s any comfort, I’ll keep them with me, too.” 

He sat up slowly, coming up dangerously close to Nagito. They very nearly shared their breaths, their noses almost touching. He was blushing faintly, the color back in his face. They were close, too close. They had been close before, of course. He still felt the warmth and weight of when he had carried the other when he thought of it. But it had never felt quite like this, with the way Hajime’s eyes had grown just a little wider as their gazes met.

They had never seemed quite so green before. 

“Do you mean that?”

“Of course I do. I happen to think you’re quite...interesting, after all. It would be a great shame if you were to pass on into obscurity.” Interesting wasn’t exactly the right word, it wasn’t quite...grand enough, to encompass how he was beginning to see him. 

“...oh.” He seemed unsure of how he felt about the praise. “Thank you.” At least his words were sincere. “That’s actually...kind of comforting,” he mumbled, his ears turning red. “I don’t really talk about it much, you know. But I’m scared of being forgotten. I know it’s irrational--and inevitable--but I just...I hate the idea of being left behind.”

Nagito wanted nothing more than to be forgotten. He deserved it, after all. But he could understand the sentiment. “I promise, you won’t be forgotten. Not by me, at least. And certainly not by the town.”  _ They are coming for you, after all.  _

He grinned shakily. “Thank you, Nagito.” 

It felt lovely to hear someone else using his name. 

“Anything else wouldn’t do for you, pet.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! as always, i hope you enjoyed. you are loved. go read a poem or revisit your favorite book. i hope today is good for you. 
> 
> -fen <3


	19. headache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sonia nevermind is more than a little stressed out.

Sonia Nevermind was at her wits’ end. They were slated to leave in a week at the latest, and she had no idea how they were to pull this rescue off. She sat in her office, everyone else taking a small break to eat. Her head was cradled in her hands, the door locked so she could have a moment of silence. She had sent him in. It had been her duty as mayor to do so--keep her people safe. She had only asked him to do his job. He knew the risks of taking it on--he knew much better than she did. 

It didn’t make her feel any better. For Chiaki, for everyone else, she had kept a strong front. That was her job; there was nothing she was better at than acting strong. But once she was alone, the walls came crumbling down. Only Gundham had seen the extent of it--had lay witness to the extent of how stressed she was. But he was out with the others right now, hosting them while she gave herself a moment to rest. 

The family tree to her right stared daggers into her. She raised her head to look at it, eyes drilling into one particular portrait. 

Nagito Komaeda, presumed dead at 23. His smile was easy and genuine, despite the pallor of his skin and the desaturation of his eyes and hair. Even though the man who had painted it had likely been generous and tried to show him to be as healthy as possible, it was clear that he had been a survivor of plague and all of its complications. Apparently he’d been lucky to live as long as he had.

Like most of her cousins, she had fully believed the ghost story about him when she was young. It was a favored spooky story of the family, whispering the tale to frightened and enraptured children to keep them up at night. She and her cousins used to stay up for hours on holidays, telling their versions that their parents told them, poking into the woods well after dark to find wisps of white hair. 

But as she aged and grew into adulthood, the story shifted. It was generally accepted that her great-great-great grandfather had killed Nagito, the true family legend. It had never been proven, but Grandmother would always recount how bitter he had been. She would always say the same thing when she was questioned about them. As a young girl, she had lived with them both. 

“I was only a little girl,” she’d always muse, taking a sip of whatever drink she had found. “and I know what I saw. But Grandfather hated him more than I’d ever seen him hate anyone.” She’d always stood by what she had seen--a woman with light hair and a dark dress, leading her uncle away into the woods. There had been blood in his bed and on his windowsill. His body had never been found. 

Not long after that, her great-great-great grandfather had died. It had been widely assumed to be both a suicide and an admission of guilt. Nagito’s body had never been found. After a while, they stopped looking. Even as a rational adult, she’d never entirely been convinced that there wasn’t a skeleton under her floorboards. He’d gone down in local history as almost getting away with a murder.

It seemed Grandmother had been telling the truth. Sonia had to wonder whether she’d have been triumphant, knowing that she had finally been proven correct. The Komaeda line had ended years ago with Nagito, leaving Jabberwock solely to the Nevermind family. Or so they had all assumed.

A vampire. He’d been taken--or perhaps he had left with--a vampire. Had become one himself. She wouldn’t deny the curiosity that fostered in her. The arcane and monstrous had always captivated her: the idea of beasts and people who  _ weren’t  _ actually people fascinated her mind. To know that she was related to one, despite how horrible the current situation, was yet interesting. 

If permitted, she would interrogate him before they ripped his head off of his body. 

Not much was known about Nagito--after all, everyone who had known him was dead now. There were small recordings, faint mumblings of what Grandmother had said. All that had really been collected was that he was intelligent and kept to himself, not just due to introversion but even more because of poor health. The guest bedroom was once his. Of course, it had been years and years--it wasn’t even the same bed anymore. But she had always been a tad less comfortable in the room than she would have liked to be. It was her house, after all. 

It seemed she didn’t need to be so nervous in her own home. He didn’t lay here. Miles away, instead. In an abandoned castle, deep in the old forest at the base of a mountain. The castle predated those woods. Nagito did not. Hajime certainly didn’t. 

She had acted as if she was confident that he would be returned to them. But she was just as confused as the reason he was being...kept. Rather than killed. Why was he alive? Why did Chiaki come back shell-shocked and wrapped in his cloak? Why did it feel as if they were walking into a trap? The note alone was a dare. A warning. Why would he give credibility to Chiaki--Sonia had been perfectly convinced that he had been killed and tried everything to keep her from going herself. 

And she had gone anyway. Had come back unharmed. Had come back with proof. It was like he was inviting them in. Like Nagito was mocking them, dangling Hajime over their heads, just out of reach. 

Chiaki hadn’t gotten the cloak herself, she’d said. She’d... _ woken up with it.  _ Was it a peace offering? A promise that Hajime being returned was the truth? Or was it another cruel joke? Nobody knew except him. 

Another thing she would pull out of him, if they could make it there. This was to be a dangerous trip. One that she likely should not even be going on. After all, if she  _ and  _ Gundham were to meet a bad ending there, they would leave Jabberwock leaderless. 

However, this was a family matter. She would not leave it unresolved. Sonia Nevermind was not someone who left what could only be a challenge unanswered. 

She had a headache. But it was shoved to the side as she stood up and walked out. Her people needed her, now more than ever. Guilt would be saved for later. She shook her head, stole one last look at Nagito’s portrait, and put her warm smile back on as she walked out.

“How is everyone feeling?”

\--

Ryota’s bookstore was small and warm. A tabby cat slept happily on the chair, soaking up the autumnal sunlight next to a stack of old manuscripts. The light filtered in through the dusty window, falling on a maze of dark shelves and stacks of odds and ends on the floor. The printing press stood in its own isolated space, large and commanding the attention of the room. It was the only clear area, the inkwells organized by color and quality. A keen eye would notice a new one popping up every now and then, even when Ryota hadn’t left the town with his books to sell for some time. Luckily, not many came through. Most people couldn’t read, or didn’t have the time to. 

So when the door creaked open, Ryota had been napping at his desk, hidden behind the well-loved clutter. He didn’t immediately rise to attention--the noise was low and muffled. The cat woke up to the noise, meowing petulantly at the perceived intruder. 

“Sorry,” Chiaki said softly to the animal, crouching down and giving it a scratch behind the ears. It was purring before long, leaping into her arms. She held it close as she walked towards the back, taking in the shelves full of books and prints. Art, dried flowers, and old journals were all intermixed with his actual wares--the pens and inks, the books themselves. A stranger likely wouldn’t have been able to tell anything apart, but to anyone who knew Ryota even a little bit it was clear what was his. 

She poked her head in through the shelves, finding him asleep at his desk. He was silent, head resting on a charcoal drawing of a woman. His desk was as cluttered as the rest of his shop: pens scattered about, papers stacked with no clear organization to them, a barely-touched meal not too far from his head. It wasn’t messy, so much as it had an odd organization known only to him. He was actually quite meticulous and could be counted on for detail and accuracy--and not just in his work.

“Ryota?”

He didn’t stir. The cat jumped out of her arms, meowing and pawing at Ryota’s face. It was careful to not actually mess with his art and work, paws stepping in between the papers and tools. 

His eyes blinked open slowly, gently pushing away the cat. “Hey...hey. What’s going on, buddy?” 

Chiaki cleared her throat. 

He snapped to attention, springing up to perfect posture, his face turning bright red. “N-Nanami! How can I help you?” He stumbled over his words, obviously embarrassed. 

She tilted her head, sitting down in a cleaned-up chair on the opposite end of his desk. Even as the moment calmed down, he still seemed visibly nervous. She dismissed it for now--he had just woken up, after all. 

“I was wondering...if you had any books about...vampires,” she said softly. “It’s alright if you don’t, but I just wanted to know.”

He swallowed, shaking his head firmly. “I’m sorry...but I don’t. I don’t often deal in texts like that. That would be Gundham’s arena.” 

Gundham and Sonia’s library had already been ransacked. There wasn’t enough. She needed  _ more.  _ She didn’t know _ enough.  _ She had gone into the first fight too blindly before, and she would be damned if she made the same mistake twice.

A week. They were leaving in a week. Actual planning had slowed for preparation to leave. Sonia had basically shoved them into an earlier bedtime, pushing the need to rest on them all firmly but lovingly. They all needed to be as sharp-minded as they could be when they left. This was one of the last excursions Chiaki would take before she left. They would rest, and plan, and rest, and plan, and rest. A few hours were put aside to refresh everyone on how to fight this specific breed of creature, but everyone in the group was certainly no pushover. 

(But if Komaeda had beaten Hajime that badly, it could never hurt to shore up on their skills.)

Ryota still seemed invariably uncomfortable. Like he was hiding something. Like there was something he didn’t want to say. Her eyebrow raised. 

“Is there...anything that you do know?” 

He shook his head fervently. (He didn’t meet her eye contact. But, then again, since when did Ryota meet anyone’s eyes?)

“Are you sure?”   
  


“...yes! Of course. I wouldn’t lie about this. I p-promise,” he said firmly, perking up. He was still red in the face. The cat meowed indignantly, seemingly backing him up. He seemed odd about the subject. But why would Ryota lie--why would he know anything about this? He was a quiet bookmaker. By all rights, he wouldn’t know anything. 

“...alright. Sorry for bothering you.” She stood up and gave another pet to the cat. “I’ll go now.” 

“It was...nice to see you, Nanami.” 

She nodded and gave some hollow resemblance of a smile. “You know you can call me Chiaki, Ryota. Goodbye.”

\--

Ryota didn’t sleep for three days after that encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi my darlings happy halloween!!!!! (it's not for a few more hours here but shhhh) i hope you have a great holiday >:) as always, you;r eloved as hell!!!!!!!!
> 
> -fen <3


	20. femur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> breadbaking.

Hajime’s shoulder didn’t hurt when he woke up. The pain in his leg had been reduced to a dull ache, easily ignored if he was careful not to overuse it. After far too long, he’d healed enough to walk around on his own again. 

It had been almost a month since he could do that. Three weeks, perhaps? Certainly, he hadn’t walked for more than a mile since the gap in his memory--the night he couldn’t remember. He certainly looked different from when he had come in. He took stock as he dressed--his neck was still wrapped up. His shoulder would forever be torn and scarred in an ugly ring. Ripples ran across his calf, the scabs tightening and close to healed. They’d been leaving ropy scar tissue in their wake. 

His leg would probably bother him for the rest of his life. But he wasn’t there yet, was he? He could deal with that when he got there. Right now, he was happy just to be able to walk without a pronounced limp. 

The smell of cooking wafted into his room as he buttoned his pants and laced his shirt. Dressing himself took less and less time as he healed, the sharp pains in his shoulder lessening and lessening as time went on. As the pain eased, so did his general irritability. They’d spent the last week finishing the play, Hajime reluctantly staying in bed. 

But it had been more than just...books. They’d talked and talked. It just seemed that they had a lot more in common than they had known. The biggest parallel, of course, being…

Dead parents. 

He didn’t want to remember whatever he’d shoved out. What he did know, he’d told more or less to Nagito. The sight of whatever had been left of his parents had been forcibly ejected from his memory, and every day he thanked God for that. It always scared him that someday the memory would return, that he’d be made to face that once more. He dreamt of them often, but it was always hazy and swirling, not letting him truly remember what he had witnessed and what had spared his life. 

But he remembered enough. 

Mother had tucked him into bed. The night was empty--he’d probably slept well. The nightmares hadn’t started until after the fact. That was one thing he _was_ sure of. As was most of the morning after. All he _really_ remembered was knocking on that door. Chiaki’s mother screaming. It was a blur--it was all a blur. He remembered waking up...maybe. That could easily be a different memory, substituting itself for what had been buried or lost. He could never, ever be sure. She kissed him goodnight. 

“Sleep well, sweetheart. See you in the morning.” Had that been what she said? She said the same thing every night when she put him to bed--it might have been that. But then again, wasn’t that what Chiaki’s mother had said to them? She was far less fuzzy, after all.

“I love you.” Maybe he’d said that back. He usually told people he loved them before he fell asleep, even when he didn’t know them very well. It was just a habit. Thank God it hadn’t slipped out in front of Nagito yet. The words were fuzzy and soft, just barely escaping his reach. If he concentrated he could remember them, but not enough to make it count. It made him feel more guilty than it should have. 

Sure, he had been seven. Seven. Who remembered being seven? (Apparently, most people he knew. Having a massive gap (or gaps) in his memory was supposedly abnormal.) It made sense that he’d not remember much. Especially not something he didn’t want to remember. And yet, it felt wrong to...not know. 

He did remember toddling out of his front door with a thumb in his mouth and a stuffed sock animal tucked in his arm. The grass had been wet and he’d been cold--the sun hadn’t quite risen yet. All he’d had on was his father’s shirt, clinging to his skin. His parents had always told him to go over to Chiaki’s house if something happened. So he was only doing what he was supposed to do. 

At least this part he remembered.

He had knocked on the door. Once. Twice. He could only imagine how little the raps had sounded, echoing throughout the whole house.

Chiaki’s mother had opened the door after a few minutes. She looked ahead, then down.

“Oh, Hajime, wh--” 

And then she’d screamed. Half the town had awoken by the time she had grabbed him and pulled him inside. 

“Keep Chiaki in the bedroom--he’s _covered_ in blood--” She turned back to him, lowering her voice and softening her tone. “Honey, what happened to you? Where are your parents?”

He stared up at her. It had been like he’d forgotten how to speak. He just gripped at his sock animal and stared. They would help. Mother and Father had always promised that they’d help. He was just doing what he’d been told to do. 

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” She began to warm up some water for a bath and frantically got her husband (and those who had woken up and came over to see what the commotion was) to go over and see what had happened. They’d kept Chiaki in her bedroom, kept Hajime away from everyone else so he could be bathed and come down from shock.

Everything else was a blur. His memory didn’t pick up beyond a few scraps until he was eight or nine, and even then it was dicey. He didn’t want to know what he’d forgotten. 

He sighed, took one last look in the mirror, and walked out. (Walked. It was odd to think about.) It was still cold--it was always kind of cold, here. But it got easier to bear the longer he stayed; in fact, cold seemed to affect him far less than it did before. Even though he’d often have to go hunting in the winter, he was someone who hated the cold and grumbled about it. In fact, it was rare to see him without his cloak in the colder months. 

“Hello,” he said cautiously, stepping into the kitchen. Nagito straightened up from his spot hunched over the counter, turning back to face Hajime. His hair was tied back at the base of his neck, his jacket draped over the back of a chair. He’d rolled up his sleeves and even tied an apron over his clothes. A small, welcoming grin fell over his face.

“Good evening, pet. I do hope you didn’t have too much trouble getting ready.”

“No, it was easier than it’s been for a while. What are you making?”

“Oh, just some bread. Would you like to help?” There was a starburst of flour on his cheek, white powder dusted across his hands and apron, still-forming dough sticking to his fingers. Water had been splashed on his apron and sleeves. It was a surprisingly homey and welcoming sight, all things considered. “I find that I don’t particularly like the kneading process. It ends up being quite messy.” 

“Alright. I tend to make my own messes, though.” He could cook perfectly fine on his own merits (he could usually conjure up something vaguely edible if needed), but baking was often an ordeal he would aid Chiaki with rather than take over on his own. Flour was a mortal enemy of his, always somehow ending up in his mouth and hair instead of the dough. 

“That’s alright. As long as the dough stays off my hands more than it has to be,” he said, staring down at his hands with an air of disdain. “The texture is quite disagreeable.”

He nodded and rolled up his own sleeves, rinsing his hands before he walked over. Nagito added another handful of flour to the bowl, stirring the thick mixture into a kneadable dough. Pinches of spices were added in here and there, until the smell of dough overtook the kitchen.

“I’m assuming you know how to knead.”

“Of course.” He floured his own hands and spread it along the counter, taking the dough and beginning to knead. It stuck to his hands and the counter, but slowly began to stick more to itself. Nagito watched from an appropriate distance, rinsing off his own hands and drying them, rolling his sleeves back down. 

Silence fell between them. It felt almost a bit more tense than what they were slowly getting used to. Like Nagito had something he wanted to say. Hajime shook his head imperceptibly and focused on kneading the dough. It began to become more elastic as he worked it.

Before much longer, Nagito swallowed and began to speak again. “So you’ve been healing. And the full moon is approaching.” 

His hands froze on the dough. He’d been ignoring the subject as best as he could. It seemed he wasn’t going to get to ignore it anymore. Maybe he’d thought if he didn’t think about it, the memory loss would no longer come to pass. He wouldn’t lose another night if he just...didn’t think about it. A childlike view of things, sure. But it would be easy to just not approach the problem. 

It seemed Nagito was smarter about it and didn’t hold the same view. “I had hoped to work more with you before it came again, but...obviously, you’ve been injured. I would like to help you to begin to control yourself and make the transition easier.” 

“We were always taught that werewolves weren’t able to control themselves,” he grunted, pushing a little too hard down on the dough, folding it over itself. “That it was just from man to animal back to man. No way around it.” 

Nagito took a step closer. “Misinformation is bound to spread when humanity only sees monsters at their worst. You’ve likely only seen werewolves who either haven’t learned how or didn’t bother to try to learn those techniques.” 

It was Hajime’s turn to swallow a bit too hard. “And you know how to teach me all this?”

“I’ll admit that...I’m not the best teacher for this,” he said regretfully, tucking a loose curl of wispy hair behind his ear. “My information may very well be incomplete. After all, my library is quite old. But there is nobody else up to the task. I may not be enough, but I will do my best to aid you. I...want to see you succeed.”

Hajime flushed ever so slightly. “Thank you. You’re saying we don’t have a lot of time, though. So how are you planning to help me master all this so quickly?” Rome wasn’t built in a day. Hajime was a steady learner, but surely not the fastest one out there. There would be mistakes before he got things right. Someone could--he could hurt Nagito. 

That thought made his blood run cold. The dough was being kneaded mindlessly, his hands moving without his racing mind thinking about it. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. He didn’t want to get hurt again, either, but hurting Nagito...he would hate to see that happen. Nevermind that his first goal had been to kill him.

“Worry not, puppy.” He slipped into a chair as Hajime greased the bowl, returned the dough, and covered it. “I know you aren’t going to learn everything right away. So we’re going to simply work on the basics. It’s going to be okay; you’re still likely not going to be in any real control of yourself.” Rinsing his hands felt like a mechanical motion, one that _he_ wasn’t actually doing.

He grabbed his own chair and sat down stiffly. Flour dusted his shirt and pants, powdering his hair and face. “I’m going to hurt someone.” 

“No, you aren’t. We’re both going to be more prepared this time--”

“You said I attacked you.”

“Yes. You killed a shirt.” He didn’t seem very concerned about it. “I’ll have you on the leash before you turn this time. Even if you can’t control yourself, I can contain you.” 

“You mean keep me under control.” 

“Of course,” he said, dismissively gesturing with his hand. “I won’t be slashing your leg this time, but once you’re subdued you’re quite easy to deal with.”

“What do you mean--”

“You’d be surprised how much you enjoy being petted,” he said, lip curling into a smirk. “It’s adorable, honestly. I don’t call you pet without a reason.” 

He flushed, but the teasing felt lighthearted and well-meaning. Almost reassuring. “I’m not cute,” he grumbled, feeling hot and his stomach flipping just a little. The compliment had him reacting...differently. Why was it something that he wouldn’t mind hearing again? Why was it...nice?

“I beg to differ, but I digress.”

“Wh--”

Nagito ignored him and soldiered on. “We’re going to work on breathing exercises and mental clarity this week. Perhaps you’ll be able to retain more of yourself than before when you turn. Who knows? In a few months time, I may not even have to leash you.”

“A few...months?” He’d have to stay for months? He supposed it was an inevitable conclusion. Of course he wouldn’t be able to go home soon. He’d only been here for a few weeks. He’d hadn’t even turned again. And yet, the realization hit him like a sack of bricks. He was going to stay here. For a long time. 

Nagito saw the way his face fell. He hesitantly reached out and took Hajime’s hand, drawing his eyes back up. “I don’t want to keep you here. You know I don’t...I hope. And I will never be upset if you hate me for all of this.”

“I don’t hate you.” His voice wasn’t as strong as he would have liked it to be. 

Nagito sighed. “I don’t want to do this to you. But this will be a fairly long process. We have to spend a lot of time teaching you, so you can control yourself and I can feel safe taking you home--”

“Can’t I visit? Can’t I tell them that I’m okay? Just...send a note, or come home for a day?”

Nagito shook his head and sighed. “Any note would be accused of forgery and trying to dissuade them from rescuing you. If you went home, I doubt they’d let you leave. You know they’d think--”

“--you had me under an enchantment if I tried to go back,” he finished, sinking into the chair. “Especially with what Chiaki saw.”

There was something mournful in Nagito’s eyes. Hajime gripped his hand tighter, a lump forming in his throat. It was like being that seven-year-old again, forgetting how to talk. 

“I only want what’s best for you and for Jabberwock. Truly, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad,” he said quietly, the words getting hard to form. “I’m just...homesick, I think. And...they’re all going to hate you, regardless of what happens to me, aren’t they?” 

Nagito was quiet. 

“Is that why you’re playing the villain?”

“They’re planning another rescue attempt. It will be soon. Very soon.”

Hajime’s breath caught in his throat. “Are you thinking that--”

“That they might come while you’ve turned? Yes. But my question is, am I going to have to prevent you from leaving with them?” There was a strange turbulence in his expression, a roiling sea of internal conflict reflecting through his seaglass eyes.

_He doesn’t want this any more than I do._

He still thought Gundham could help. He still thought him and Sonia knew enough, had enough connections to perhaps reverse whatever curse he’d been placed under. But that was a big _if,_ and leaving would likely end in…

“They’re probably going to try and kill you.” 

“Undoubtedly.” 

Hajime had come here to kill Nagito Komaeda. He had raised a stake over his back--had he succeeded, Nagito would never even had known what happened to him. It would all have been over in an instant. 

Hajime had never considered himself to be cruel. A quick death was far easier than anything else. He would never draw the pain out longer than he had to. But...Nagito. If he escaped, they would kill Nagito. And they would not be merciful. 

Hajime Hinata, hunter since he was fourteen years old, did not want to see this vampire come to harm. 

“...I won’t let them hurt you. I don’t care how I have to do it. I’m going to stay, however long it takes. I can’t endanger them--but I don’t want to put you in harm’s way, either.” 

“That’s quite a new sentiment from you,” Nagito said, eyes widening. “I...am not fond of seeing you being hurt. I know this decision must be difficult.”  
  


“It’s keeping everyone safe.” He was sure of his answer. No matter how homesick he was, the good of the group had to be put first. He was, for all intents and purposes, a wild card. He’d begun to accept his status as a danger, if only to begin to work to undo it. He would go home, on his own terms. 

And he’d rather like to part ways with Nagito as a friend. 

_Friend._ That didn’t...feel quite right, all things considered. They were friendly and cordial now, lightly teasing the way friends often did, but it all had a different slant to it than he was used to. Nagito’s name rang a different sort of bell. He thought of him far more often...in far different ways, than how he would his other friends. He was close with Kazuichi and Mahiru, sure. But they had never dominated his thoughts before he fell asleep. He’d never been so loath to let go of someone else’s hand.

And...why? Why did he take in all of Nagito so effortlessly? Why did he notice things about him that would normally slip past if it was anyone else? It was confusing, and honestly embarrassing, and yet...he didn’t mind it. He didn’t mind it at all, except that it was getting harder and harder to think straight around him again, and not for anger or the urge to run.

It was something else entirely.

So when Nagito broke his hand away, Hajime couldn’t help but feel a mixture of disappointment and nervousness. This was...going to end badly, no matter how he looked at it. Someone was going to get hurt. 

So why did he so desperately want to make sure that it wasn’t Nagito? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg it's november now....i hope ur halloweens were swaggy and that if you live in the US, you didn't go to any parties and were responsible. as always, you're so amazingly loved and i hope your day is excellent!!! make sure to drink some water and eat if you haven't already. 
> 
> -fen <3


	21. mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hajime loses at chess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!!!! hello!!! i'm here!!! i'd like to say a big thank you to @/shu.bii and @/yeetbixed on instagram for making some hella cool and funky art for this fic!! it's really cool to see that you guys like this fic so much that you made your own works for it!! <3 <3 <3

The smell of baking bread wafted around the kitchen. They were still in their chairs, playing a round of chess as the neatly shaped loaves baked in the fire. Hajime, of course, used to having Byakuya, Chiaki, and Ibuki as his only competitors, was losing terribly. He’d never beaten Chiaki (it was impossible to beat her at games. Whether it was cards, puzzles, or whatever they had decided to desecrate the chessboard with, she would win and leave him in the dust. That never stopped him from playing with her.) at much of anything, especially not chess, and it was shaping up to be the same with Nagito. With a mix of some odd blind luck and pure strategy, he’d won nearly every round they’d played and surprisingly quickly as well.

It was shaping up to be the same this round. 

“Check.” He moved a lacquered knight to a spot Hajime had once again been blind to--he’d have to move his king, but more than likely lose his remaining bishop in the process. 

“You’re a lot better at this than I am,” he grumbled, accepting the loss and moving his king to the left. “You’re lucky I’m used to losing.”

As expected, Nagito collected the bishop, turning the piece over once or twice in his hand before adding it to the steadily growing pile of Hajime’s captured pieces. “It’s fair to say that I’ve been playing for longer than you’ve been alive. Who do you play with at home who beats you so badly? All things considered, you aren’t all that terrible at chess.”

“Remember Chiaki? She wins every game she’s ever played. I bet she’d probably beat you, too, or at least give you a real challenge.”

Nagito leaned back in his chair, propping an arm on the head of it. “Somehow, I don’t think she’d want to play with me.”

Hajime chuckled, just a bit. “She’s probably got quite a grudge forming. So maybe we should hold off on that for now.” She was someone who didn’t often get angry--but when she did, she never forgot. There were still certain people she glowered at when they passed them by and even certain objects that she had a vendetta against. And none of them had done anything close to what she had to interpret what Nagito had done. 

“Maybe.” 

Hajime scoured the board, looking for a move that wouldn’t cost him another piece. Not many options came up. He settled for moving a pawn forward two spaces. Hopeful it would free him up to move his bishop.

“I haven’t played in a while,” Nagito said fondly. “I missed playing games. Not that Junko ever played fair.” 

“It must be lonely up here, by yourself.” 

“I suppose. But I never was very social, you know.” He shrugged. “Interacting with others was never particularly easy, especially not after I fell ill.”

He looked up from the chessboard. “Plague?”

He nodded, rolling a captured pawn through slender fingers. “Took my parents and left me quite useless. I do believe they used to say it was lucky that I even survived. But, of course, I was bedridden for most of my...ordinary life. A shut-in. Quite useless, all things considered.” 

He nodded and got up to check on the bread. The freedom of being able to move relatively painlessly was a gift. His leg still rang with a dull ache, but it was something easily ignored and simple to treat. While he’d still spend the majority of his time sitting or lying down so make sure he didn’t accidentally overwork it, he could move just fine. 

“I’ve never caught it, luckily. It...Chiaki’s parents did, though.”

He nodded in sympathetic understanding. “I understand. It must be painful, to have lost two sets of parents.”

Hajime’s shoulders slumped just a bit. “Yes, it was. But I was a lot older when they passed. Chiaki and I had more time to prepare for it when they first got sick.” The pain of that loss had dulled after a few years, but...of course, it was never really going to be gone. There was still a deep, endless hole there, left unfilled. 

“...I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t feel bad. I didn’t mean to bring the mood down.” 

Nagito nodded in understanding, finally moving another piece.  _ Shit.  _ He’d put Hajime in check yet again. They were only on their third round or so, but each time Nagito had beaten him so thoroughly that he’d considered giving up before the next game was even offered. But even as badly as he was being beaten, he was having a good time. It was nice to actually be  _ doing  _ something, where they could interact with a topic to fall back on. 

“You didn’t. It’s quite alright. I do suggest you protect your king, however.” And so Hajime moved the piece once more, regretfully sacrificing a rook. His pieces were gradually being taken one by one--he was well on the track to lose again. 

The pieces were carved from wood, painted and lacquered to shine even in the low light. They were well-taken care of, the curves sanded and smoothed to perfection. In certain places the paint had been worn to a matte finish, little dips showing where someone else had held and moved the pieces over and over in a thousand games. 

“Did you play often?” 

“At one point, yes. Until Junko got bored of it. Mukuro often played with me, however. Dare I say they were both far better than I was at it.”

“Mukuro?” 

“Junko had a sister. I’m unsure whether I’ve yet mentioned her or not. She wasn’t terrible when you came to her on her own, but she was often with her sibling. She deferred to her even more than I did.”

“Did she…”

“Junko killed her long before she herself was hunted. She was a violent creature by nature, and her sister was often the target. When one of us wasn’t around, the other became a target. I was...practicing on the violin, I believe. Maybe I was still fixing up that old organ. Well, I suppose that doesn’t matter much. The point is, I heard a scream, and when I found them, poor Mukuro had been staked.”

Hajime set the chess piece down. “Was there a reason?”

Nagito shrugged. “Junko was one who made it harder on herself just because...I suppose feeling despair was fun for her. There was nothing she loved more,” he said with distaste, his nose wrinkling at the idea. “It was one of the most disagreeable things about her.”

He nodded, placing the few claimed pieces he had from Nagito into a symmetrical pattern. And yet his mind swirled with some sort of worry. What environment had he been forced to live in? Why did he speak so casually of it? Why was he so used to something so abnormal? Something so wrong?

He was very glad that these sisters were gone.

Nagito stood and went to check the bread, carefully pulling the loaves out and quickly rapping his knuckles on the crust. “They’re finished. We can eat once they cool down.”

“Alright.”

A prickly silence fell over them both as Nagito sat back down, placing the loaves next to the chessboard on a heating mat. The talk of death diminished the mood, the threat of Hajime’s upcoming transformation looming over their heads. How were they going to do this? He remembered nothing of being something else. He still had no memory beyond tying his horse and walking inside. What had he done? What was he going to do?

He had a feeling that he was going to have trouble sleeping this week.

Nagito leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I know you’re worried. I can see it on your face.”

Hajime startled, his spine shooting straight up. “I’m fine. Just a little concerned about...turning again, is all.”  _ And I’m concerned for you. You’re talking about all these things like they’re nothing.  _ But he didn’t say the last part, of course. 

Nagito nodded in understanding. “Of course. Don’t worry, I’m confident I can keep you under control.” The collar sat unlocked on Hajime’s nightstand. He instinctively raised a hand to his neck, feeling gauze instead of cold metal. He didn’t want to have to put it back on. There were few things in the world that he’d want less than to have to wake up with it on again. And yet it got closer and closer by the day. 

The other’s expression softened. “I know you don’t want it back. I’m not putting it back on you until I have to, alright?”

He nodded silently, his mind swirling. There were still fading bruises on his neck, faint tints of green and yellow hidden under the wraps of bandages. The bites on his neck were slowly but surely healing, ready to leave yet another small set of scars in its wake. Would they show up? Would people stare? Would people ask about them? Or would they already know, just giving a pitying glance as he walked past and then avert their eyes?

He didn’t want to think about it. At all. The collar had never been long enough to cut into his skin, never been there long enough to leave indents behind. 

He took another look at Nagito’s neck. 

Marks. There were marks on his neck. Not just the bites, either. They almost looked like indents, usually hidden the high collar of his shirt. But today he had donned something looser around the collarbones, baring the pale dents for Hajime to see. They fell where his own bruises now sat. 

He tilted his head, doing his own best not to stare. “How...long did you have to wear that collar?” 

It was Nagito’s turn to stiffen up. His hand rose to his throat, instinctively covering the markings with his palm. In an instant, it became clear as glass that he wore those high collars for a reason. He looked visibly uncomfortable, a measure of fear entering his expression. 

Hajime cringed back, curling back in on himself. “Oh--I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“Ten years.” 

The blood drained from his face. Ten years.  _ Ten years.  _

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Nagito took a deep breath, dropping the hand from his throat. “You didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a question. I wouldn’t...punish curiosity.” 

“I won’t bring it up again,” he said, guilt squirming in his gut. 

“Thank you, pet.” He shook his head, settled his breathing. “But...needless to say...we will keep it put away until it’s necessary. In truth, I was considering ridding myself of it, but…”

“I guess it came in handy.”

“I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it. God knows why,” he chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “At least we were able to get some use out of it.”

The wood of Hajime’s chair was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He grabbed an extra one and pulled it over to prop up his bad leg and give it a break. His mind was swirling deeply, unable to slow down. 

“Did it...did you feel better, being on the other end of it?” He looked away, huffing a breath. 

Nagito slowly shook his head. “No. It didn’t. There’s no pleasure to having that kind of power over someone else without their consent. I don’t want to do it again, but--”

“It’s alright.” He leaned back and smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “I know it’s necessary. I...don’t like that thing. At all. But it’s necessary when I’m going to turn. I give you permission to use it when you need to.”

Nagito swallowed thickly. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. It’s not something we can get around,” he said with the same false confidence he used to have. Putting on a brave face for someone else had once more become needed, and he was always up to that challenge, no matter who it was. “I know I feel less nervous than I would have if anyone else was handling it.”

“So you trust me with you?” He took a knife and began to cut into the bread, steam and the fresh smell cracking out of the cut. 

“You succeeded before. Why not trust you again?”

Nagito nodded, the worry slowly vanishing from his face and replacing itself with some sort of wry amusement. “Well, if you truly feel that way, I’m honored. Now, I believe we have some training to begin…”

“And what is that?” he asked, reaching out for the offered piece of bread. Nagito snatched it back just as it reached his hand, a wicked smile playing across his face. 

“Why, self-control, of course!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i hope you enjoyed. make sure to take care of yourself as best as you're able--stay hydrated, eat a snack. you're loved!!! -fen <3


	22. carotid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keep-away.

“Come  _ on,”  _ he protested, reaching back for the bread, only to get it swiped back further. “We’re not children. Hand it over.” 

“I  _ did _ . It’s not my fault you weren’t moving fast enough.”

“Nagito.”

“You should have been quicker about it.”

There was wry mischief in his face, an irritatingly familiar smirk now cutting across his expression. While it felt far more lighthearted than before, Hajime knew to steady himself for some inevitable frustration. “Training,” Nagito had called it. But already, this felt more like teasing than anything else. 

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “So is this an actual test, or are you just messing with me?”

“Of course this is a test. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun along the way!” He further leaned forward, holding it out. Just out of his reach. Hajime decided against going for it, knowing it’d be pulled back. Of course, the idea was to piss him off, but he didn’t really want to deal with that this early in the day. Of course, it was unlikely he’d get out of it, but he might as well try, right?

“Playing a game of keep-away is your idea of training?” 

“Obviously. Werewolves are known for their anger, after all. If I can antagonize you without you losing your temper--”

He sighed. “This is fun for you.”

“Absolutely!” He perked up, light shining in his eyes as Hajime took another pass at the bread. “Having fun with you is the highlight of my day. It’s quite amusing when you go all red in the face.” There was a genuine glee in his face, the smile spreading across his face. It was so complete and endearing that Hajime’s irritation dulled despite itself. 

“I’m glad to hear that at least one of us is having fun,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “You know, before all this, I was actually pretty easygoing. There would have been no need to try and help me with my self-control like this.” 

“I believe it. I know we haven’t known each other...long...but your anger does seem a bit uncharacteristic in comparison to the rest of the personality you’ve shown. Besides, the monster hunters who can’t control their anger don’t tend to last long.” 

He nodded in agreement, casting a quick glance to the set of bricks he’d slammed his fist into just over a week ago. It made his knuckles sting just thinking about it. “Yes.” Hunters occasionally passed through Jabberwock. Some would return for rest and a drink when their missions were completed. Some didn’t. And the ones who were blustery and bitter were the ones who rarely made it back. And when they did, the wind often seemed to be knocked out of them. Not always--there was the rare cocky one who’d earned their confidence and anger, but more often than not they were inexperienced and over-eager for bloodshed rather than a real drive for anything good. 

He’d always been someone, while irritable, was rare to truly be angry. This new check of anger that fell beneath his consciousness, only being drawn out when it was baited, was foreign. It would make sense for it to exist, based on what he knew of werewolves. He just never had expected that he would have to deal with his own version of it.

“And so your idea to help me gain what I had back is--”

“To purposefully draw it out. Does that not make sense to you?” He steepled his fingers in front of him, the bread nearly forgotten. “We cannot tame a presence who does not make itself known. The idea isn’t to tame  _ you _ , rather, the new instincts you have no idea how to handle.”

It, unfortunately, made sense. “The jokes you get to make along the way are only a bonus, I’m assuming.” 

“Naturally, puppy.”

Nagito grinned when Hajime’s brows knitted together into a scowl. He leaned forward and tapped him playfully on the nose. “How cute.”

“ _ Hey-- _ ” His stomach exploded into a swarm of butterflies.  _ What?  _ “Don’t tease me like that--”

“I’m not  _ teasing _ ,” he countered, moving his hand down and squishing Hajime’s cheeks.  _ Clearly  _ teasing. It was almost blatant, how much  _ this  _ was the actual test behind it all. And yet, the touch was something he didn’t exactly hate. In fact, he...liked it. He hadn’t known playful contact akin to it in…years. 

Needless to say, the flush didn’t go anywhere. In fact, it grew, heat rising under his collar. 

“You’re definitely--”

“Saying what I think, yes.” 

_ Testing me. He’s just testing me. He’s trying to get me to react.  _ He desperately began to bargain with himself, frantically fighting to keep calm. That was the goal. The test, to keep under control. 

And yet, he missed the contact when Nagito fell back. There was a phantom touch lingering on his face where he had touched.  _ Why?  _

“You’re bright red. I can hear your heart speeding up,” Nagito said, quickly masking a note of surprise behind a practiced even tone. (Would he be blushing right now, had he had blood to rush to his face?) “Get it back under control--keep yourself calm.”

He forced himself to take a deep breath.  _ Keep myself calm. All I have to do is keep myself calm. This is so I can go home. This is so I can go home.  _ By nature, he was a quiet breather. Monsters--(could he even call them monsters anymore? Was that even alright, considering what had happened to him? Considering Nagito?)--were often keen of sight and hearing. So being good at being quiet and being better at hiding had been trained into him since he was young. 

Quashing down whatever he felt like it was just plain old fear, he steadied out his breathing and pressed a hand over his heart, feeling his heartbeat slow down in real time. That was simple enough, right? The flush slowly faded down, until he felt relatively normal once more. His stomach still felt like it had flipped over, but his breathing and heart rate were normal.

Nagito’s eyes sparkled. “Good work.” He offered the bread once more to a skeptical Hajime, who raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Are you going to actually let me have it?”

“Why don’t you find out?” Steam still rose from the slice, carefully proffered to him. 

They locked eyes for just a second, staring each other down across the table. And so Hajime reached out over the chessboard and took it. It wasn’t pulled away, wasn’t withheld. 

He took a hesitant bite, the flavor filling his mouth. It was...good. Excellent, actually. It had been baked just long enough for the outside crust to be crunchy and hard, while the inside was soft and bouncy. And whatever salt or spice Nagito had added had made it far better than regular bread at home.

“Thank you.” 

“Of course.” 

He ate quietly, feeling the press of long-gone fingers on his face. If he was honest with himself, he missed the feeling. People didn’t too often touch him--Chiaki was a cuddler, sure, but more so in the way a cat was affectionate--she leaned up next to him, slowly getting closer until she was asleep on top of him and he had to resign himself to a night on the couch with her. Those were the best nights of sleep he could imagine. 

It wasn’t the same as this, whatever...this was. Nagito’s touch wasn’t nothing, but it wasn’t the same as Chiaki just falling onto him when she got tired. Wasn’t it different? It was supposed to be a test, a method to piss him off. It had the opposite effect in the worst way. And something was still there, even if he could forcibly calm himself down. 

God. 

“Let’s try this again, alright? I won’t be so straightforward about it all this time--that  _ would  _ defeat the purpose of this all, you know.” 

He nodded, chewing on the bread. He was seemingly lost in his own thoughts, gazing at the firepit across the room. Why was this all swirling around him now, at such an inconvenient time? Why was his perception of Nagito slowly but surely changing, pushing him in an unpredictable direction? It was terrifying, but not for the reasons it should have been. It was so utterly horrifying because he  _ welcomed  _ the change.

He missed that touch. And by God, he wasn’t brave enough to ask for it again.

-

Nagito was having his own crisis on the other end of the table. He heard the way Hajime’s heartbeat spiked the second he had his face in his hand. Frankly, Nagito was glad his heart didn’t beat, because he  _ saw  _ how Hajime’s eyes had widened. He watched as he turned red and still didn’t pull away from him. That hadn’t been anger, or even irritation. 

Both of them had missed the touch when Nagito had pulled himself away. There were still traces of warmth on his fingers, soon to fade. Hajime, rather like dogs tended to be, was warm and gave his body heat away freely, feeling like a furnace when he sat next to him. Perhaps Nagito was just no longer accustomed to warm-blooded bodies around him, but Ryota had never been so warm--his hands had always been clammy and chilled. Perhaps this was just Hajime then, to be so kind as to even subconsciously share his warmth.

How fitting. It had been his intention to irritate him, but it seemed something else entirely had occurred. Hajime no longer met his eyes, staring instead at the oven like it would give him an answer.

“Did I make you uncomfortable?” he asked nervously. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you without permission--”

“It’s alright,” Hajime said quickly, nearly dropping his bread. The flush crept back up his neck once more, his ears turning a flaming red. “I don’t mind if you touch me, Nagito.”

_ I don’t want you touching me.  _

_ I don’t mind if you touch me, Nagito. _

His own mind swirled. Why had there been this change? Where had it come from? Did Hajime...trust him, now?

“I still should have asked. My apologies.”

“...it’s alright. I promise. I know you know my boundaries. I’m not going to get upset just because you touched my face.” 

Nagito cut himself a slice of bread, just to give his hands something to do, instead of reaching back out. “That’s a very different tune from your initial one, pet. I do try to be careful.”

“Well, I’ve figured out by now that you’re not  _ entirely  _ an ass.” He looked over for a moment, giving a nervous half-grin. “You’re actually kind of alright, when you...don’t bite.”

Nagito’s eyes dropped to the gauze around his neck, then to the chessboard between them. The bread in his mouth almost tasted like blood when the set of memories flashed in his mind. It was a tough swallow. 

“It won’t happen again.” His voice felt strangely hushed as it came out of his mouth. “I should never have done that.”

Hajime slumped a little lower in his chair, readjusting his bad leg. “You need to eat just as much as I do.”

“But--”

“If you have to take what you need, you can,” he said, just as quietly. “I wouldn’t stop you.” His face was red once more, and his eyes were on everything but Nagito. 

Nagito almost dropped his bread. “No.” And yet, his eyes were still on his neck. The hunger was still sated for now, but something instinctual rumbled low in his gut. “I can’t do that to you again.”

“I’m saying you can. As long as you’re doing it out of necessity. I have no idea who you’re feeding on to survive, but--”

“I’ve been feeding off animals for years. I wouldn’t stop that just because you offered--”

“Nagito. It’s okay.” His voice softened. “You’re doing your best for us both in a bad situation. If I can help you, I want to.”

God, he still felt the warmth of his face on his hands. And it ached, almost. As if the slight heat was searing hot, burning his skin down to the bone. Despite the ugly feeling, despite the knowledge that if he got too close he was bound to be burnt, he reached out. 

He stood up, leaned forward, and gently cupped Hajime’s chin in his hand, feeling the other go deathly still under his touch. His heartbeat began to raise. Their eyes locked once more as Hajime’s breath hitched. 

“I refuse to hurt you for my own gain. Not unless I have no other choice.” His voice was even and his hand steady, but he had never felt shakier. 

“And I’m saying--” he swallowed hard, almost seeming like he wanted to lean into the contact. “--I want to help you. I don’t care if--”

_ “No, Hajime.”  _

There was almost a sense of hurt on his face. 

His freckles were starting to fade. It rang hollow in Nagito’s chest. “I…I  _ cannot  _ do that to you. No matter whether I want it or not. No matter what I want of you--”

Hajime reached up slowly, as if to touch him. But he retracted his hand, pressing it close to his chest. “If you want it, it’s okay. There’s no shame in it.”

But it wasn’t the blood that he wanted, if he was forced to be honest with himself. There was something else entirely, and  _ God  _ he ached for it. He’d let Hajime sleep early and stand alone in front of his own violin, cursing himself for daring to get attached. 

He dropped his hand and began to walk off. “I can’t--no. No. I can’t get...attached like that, I can’t keep taking from you. I’ve marked you enough, don’t you think?” 

“Nagito--” The sound of a chair scraping behind him echoed around the room. But he didn’t look back. He couldn’t look back. 

“I’m already too close to you. It’s dangerous for us both. And I won’t abuse the power that I have to further my own agenda.” That was what _she_ had done. And he _was_ too close. His thoughts were clouded by green eyes when he was only trying to rest, the way he left heat everywhere he went always close to the front of his mind. He was supposed to teach him to control himself, then let him go. But more and more, he found that he didn't want to see him go. And Hajime himself didn't make it any easier, practically offering himself up on a silver platter like it was no big deal. He wanted to take that deal. It wasn't uncommon for vampires to find a favored human and keep them as a...God...a pet of sorts, feeding on them whenever they pleased and the poor human being too love-drunk to care.   


  
He was not that kind of thing. All jokes and names aside, he would never use Hajime like that. God knew once was enough, because once was addicting. If he bit down a second time, he'd never release Hajime if it was the last thing he did. 

“Nagito, I’m not trying to--” 

He did turn around, then. Hajime looked almost desperate, with how he stood up. He still propped his hand against the table for support.  _ Still being affected by the injuries I left on him.  _

“Rest. Don’t overwork your leg. I can’t further impair you more than I already have.”

He turned back around and left the room, forcing himself to push Hajime’s voice out of his ears.

_ I cannot hurt him again. I cannot hurt him again. I cannot hurt him again. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i hope you enjoyed. :3 i feel like we're finally getting somewhere with this fic, lol. It's insane to think I've been writing this for like, two months, and I'm only just getting to the exciting parts. take care of yourself today!!! 
> 
> -fen <3


	23. swift-footed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the rescue operations have begun.

The others were running around, making final preparations and packing the horses. Chiaki sat to the side, resting on the lip of the well with a mug of soup in her hands. They’d been preparing all yesterday: cooking and packing food, accustoming themselves to new silver weapons, whittling wood into stakes, gathering and folding clothes into bags. A specific bag had been stuffed with medicinal supplies, just in case something went wrong. The animals themselves had been resting all yesterday, ready to go this morning. 

They would leave at daybreak--arrive at dawn the next morning. Once the pink began to crack over the horizon, they’d be gone. They planned carefully to make sure that even if they were delayed, they’d be able to arrive with ample time to search without obstruction. If all went well, Komaeda would be dead before sundown and Hajime would ride home with them on the spare horse. They all knew there was a high likelihood that he was still hurt, that his leg could very well be the least of their worries when they arrived. 

The most crucial element of the plan was arriving in the daylight. They would likely have to split up and search for him, after all, and God knew that old castle was huge, a monumental task for even the fairly sizable group that was going. It was an imperfect plan. In fact, it probably wasn’t even a very good plan at all. 

There were too many problems and not enough solutions, certainly not enough time to fix them. There were more what-ifs than definite variables. There were a thousand ways this could go wrong, and every single one of them had kept Chiaki up at night for the last week.

“So how are we supposed to get him if he’s behind a locked door?” Fuyuhiko had asked, knocking his elbows on the table. “Wait for Nekomaru? Leave him there? Break down the damn thing?”

“You have to do whatever you can do,” Sonia had sighed, massaging circles into her temples. She seemed every bit as tired and frustrated as the rest of them. That was when Chiaki had really begun to worry--if even their mayor was cracking, what did that say for the fate of their rescue attempt? “I believe in us. This will work.” But even to her, her words seemed unsure. 

They were all worried. They were all sleepless and tired and cold. They had “rested” the night before. But was it really rest? No, most likely. They’d all lain awake in silence. On their backs in their spots in Sonia and Gundham’s home, pretending they didn’t notice each other staring at the ceiling with their eyes open. It’d been an ugly sort of silence, the kind that nobody was going to acknowledge when the dark circles got deeper when they got up for the morning. And just as she predicted, nobody was talking about it. 

“Good morning, Chiaki. Would you indulge me with an early morning conversation?” Chiaki flicked her eyes up from her soup and patted the spot next to her.

Sonia sighed and sat down next to her. Her hair had been braided back into a thick blonde rope, stuffed under a cloak and scarf, held out of her eyes with a few pins. Small strands of hair still escaped, falling in wisps around her face. Her hands were hidden under thick mittens and long sleeves, her breath hanging crystalline in the early morning air. 

“How are you holding up?” She placed a hand on her back, rubbing small circles into her shoulder. “Make sure you eat your soup before you go, alright? Teru made it just for us. You need to keep your strength up--you know it’s a long journey.”

“I think I’ll throw up if I try to eat,” she mumbled, shivering under the starlight. “I don’t know how this is going to go--I don’t think we’re going to be able to do it.” Her voice felt small under the endless sky, her breath escaping into that void. She was terrified, frozen to her seat. “I went in, I saw him, and then I got knocked out and woke up in the middle of the woods.” 

Sonia’s touch was warm and stable, a steadying force against the chill. “We are going to wait until the daytime. Everyone is going to be by your side. We will not be leaving without Hajime. I promise.” She smiled gently, her face flushed with the morning chill. They both watched Gundham soothe the horses, a far gentler voice from him than they would ever hear directed at them (except perhaps Sonia). The horses whinnied happily. 

The animals were the only content ones there. 

“I know that. I know that I shouldn’t be so worried, but I’m just...if I had just waited until the morning, he’d be home now.” She took a trembling sip of the soup, if only to assuage Sonia’s worries. It was excellent, as it always was. But she couldn’t bring herself to enjoy it this time around. “All I had to do was be patient.”

“Nobody is upset with you. Least of all him. We both know Hajime--he would  _ never  _ be upset at you for just trying to help.” 

“I know. I still feel bad, though.” Another sip of the broth, just to cut the chill. It wasn’t a lot, just enough to keep warm and avoid further upsetting her stomach. But even so, it felt wrong to eat when they were so close to leaving. “I just want him to be home safe.”

“Nobody has any intention of coming home empty-handed,” Sonia said firmly. “Hajime is one of my citizens and he is one of my dear friends. I sent him up there, and now I will help bring him back down again.” There was that old confidence back in her voice again. As time had passed, Chiaki had realized it was an act, a show to put everyone else at ease. It had been trained into her since she was young--while she’d always been a leader-type and someone everyone could go to for advice, the gentle ease of her speech and body language was practiced and learned. That didn’t make it any less reassuring.

Sonia was a comforter, not a liar. If she said this would work, then it was going to. The determination and courage in her chest flared a little brighter. 

“Definitely.” 

They grinned at each other, and it was real this time. “I believe in us, Chiaki.”

“...me too.” 

A male voice rocketed across the yard. “Are you ready to go?” Nekomaru jogged over, waving wildly. They cast their gazes towards the skyline, where the barest tints of pink were beginning to show.

Chiaki nodded firmly, shouldering her bag and taking one last drink of her soup. “Yes.” 

They saddled up on their mounts, Gundham pulling an extra one to his side. The horse would have a rider before they came back home. 

As they set off, his cloak bundled around her, she only had one thought in her mind. 

_ I’m going to bring you home, Hajime. _

\--

Ryota was panicking for real this time. He pushed his horse up the mountainside, desperately riding as fast as he could to warn Komaeda. And even then, he still had doubts about his decision.  _ Is this the right thing to do? Can I trust Komaeda with another person? Can I trust that Komaeda has been good on his word and is protecting Hinata?  _

He shook his head and kept riding. It was a harder route, but he had enough of a head start that he was sure he’d make it in time. The horse knew it as well, carefully stepping around loose dirt and stones to take him up to the castle he’d only ever been inside a precious few times. He kept going, and going, and going.

He left at least three hours before the others, making sure he had ample time to arrive, warn, and escape before everyone else arrived. He wasn’t sure this was the right choice--he was never sure he made the right choice. Shouldn’t he be helping them rescue Hinata, or at least explain the situation to them? Wouldn’t that fix everything? 

Well, if Komaeda hadn’t done it, there had to be a reason. And to reveal Ryota’s position as nearly life-long informant for a vampire didn’t seem like it’d go over well, especially when Hinata had been gone for nearly a month. That was a battle he’d lose, if he was even believed. And it was  _ doubtful  _ that he’d be believed. What credibility did the bookmaker have? What credibility would he gain by claiming his connection to a monster that lived a day away from the town?

How had this all gotten  _ so  _ messed up? And so quickly? Where had this all gone wrong? Those were answers he didn’t have and answers he wasn’t even qualified to guess at. His only real job here was to keep everything from getting even messier. If it had been a month since Hinata had left, it was easy to assume that he would turn into a beast sooner rather than later, if it hadn’t happened already. God, what if it happened when they  _ arrived?  _

He urged his horse on. There was no time to waste. He simply didn’t have the extra moments to fret and regret his decision. Komaeda had only ever helped him, and it was time for him to really return the favor. This wouldn’t be happening if it wasn’t the best choice. This would work out far better if Hinata stayed. And for that to be the outcome, somebody had to warn them that people were coming.

Of course, Ryota had already altered him to the rescue attempt when it was a growing idea. Komaeda knew it was coming, maybe Hinata did, too. But wouldn’t it be best to know that the gates had to stay locked and the old, rickety bridge over a long since dried-up moat should be drawn? 

The dawn had begun to rise. If he pressed on with only the absolutely necessary breaks for the horse, he’d arrive with time to spare. 

And so he rode through a late autumn wood, up hills and over streams, past animals he didn’t have the time to fear. He was unarmed except for a knife on his hip. Rarely was it drawn and rarer still did it see blood. But he would use it if he had to, just to protect the one person who’d always been unconditionally kind to him. Even when he failed and didn’t deliver on expectations, he’d only be disappointed, not angry. And there was always forgiveness, a sense of understanding that what was asked might be a little too much. 

This was the least he could do. At least, that’s what he was convincing himself of, as the sun rose and the sky went from navy to orange to blue. The forest was prettier in the daytime, when all the colors could be appreciated and the air wasn’t quite so frigid. And yet, the flaming oranges and reds of a fall forest became little more than a blur as he raced up the mountainside. 

Ryota Mitarai was not a brave man. But it seemed he could pull through when he was needed the most, as he approached the looming old castle. He had his own key (in case of emergencies), unlocking a small side gate and sprinting in. His horse rested at the stable, drinking from a trough he quickly poured. 

The sun had set hours ago by now. Day and night had spread into one as he traveled relentlessly, and it was almost shocking how fast the time had seemed to pass. He took a quick glance to the moon (God, nearly full. It was if the others couldn’t have picked a worse time to come and save Hinata.) and judged it to be about...three hours past midnight.

Good. The others, if not amply delayed by the traps Komaeda had set, wouldn’t arrive for several hours.

Now, he had to find them. He made no effort to hide himself as he burst in, in fact making himself as loud as he possibly could. 

_ “Komaeda!”  _ His voice echoed in the vast rooms of the castle, booming far bigger than he’d ever feel. 

The room was dark and empty--perhaps they were upstairs. He scrambled up the steps, tripping over broken stone as he went.  _ “Komaeda!” _

He was breathless, running around for a source of light or sound. Any place he thought one of them could be, he checked.

“...Ryota?”

_ That wasn’t Komaeda’s voice.  _

He whipped around so fast he nearly fell. Hinata stood in front of him, holding a candle. Stood. He was on his own two legs--there was no chain around his neck. But there were bandages around his throat. And shadows under his eyes--though those could just be from the candle. 

“Ryota? Why are you here?” He seemed concerned, walking over. His steps were slow and a little uneven, but steps they were. “What’s going on?” 

“K-Komaeda. Where is he?” 

“The study. Come on, you look worried.” Hinata’s confusion and his own worry was evident, but he didn’t ask and instead ushered him along to the aforementioned study. 

He rapped on the door before opening it slowly. “Nagito...Ryota’s here.”

They were both nearly yanked inside by a set of pale hands. 

As he always did, Komaeda had pulled on his mask of ease and neutrality. But Ryota knew to look past the practiced grin--there was sheer terror in his eyes the moment he saw Ryota. He knew something was wrong,  _ very  _ wrong, for him to have come all the way. 

“What’s going on?”

“They’re...they’re coming,” he said breathlessly. “For him.” He pointed an exhausted finger at Hinata. “They’ll be here by dawn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i hope you enjoyed!!! updates are probably going to remain on this slightly slower pace, i have exams in two weeks O_O. make sure you drink some water and eat something you like today!!! you are loved!!! (also tysm for 8k reads???? bruh :,) <3)
> 
> -fen <3


	24. lungs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tensions rise.

Hajime nearly dropped his candle--it slammed into a side table first. _They were coming._ God, they couldn’t have picked a _worse_ time. The full moon was coming--it was tomorrow. The collar sat out on his nightstand. It was going on before he went to bed that morning--before the moon could even so much as get near him. And that was when they’d decided to swoop in, when he had to be chained and bound and held under a tighter watch than he’d ever had to before. 

Ryota looked like a wreck, obviously exhausted and had been riding hard to get here. His breaths were ragged, his chest heaving. The bottoms of his pants were muddy, his cheeks flushed and his lips chapped. The look in his eyes was deadly serious--there was a fiery determination in them Hajime had never seen before. 

Ryota had always been quiet and timid, someone who hung in the back of the crowd and didn’t talk much. He had always seemed like more of an observer than a citizen. Well, now Hajime knew _why--_ it had been the truth. He’d been watching and reporting on them for God knew how long.

Someday, whenever Hajime got himself out of here, he and Ryota Mitarai were going to have a long talk. Whether anyone else would be notified of his deception would be decided then, if he hadn’t confessed on his own terms by then. 

“I...I had to warn you. I don’t know how well the traps will work, and they should delay them at least for a while, but--”

“What traps?” His gaze rocketed between the two, his free hand grabbing onto a side table. “What did you _do_ , Nagito?” 

Neither of them met his eyes. In fact, they both turned away, seeming to ignore him entirely. It was certainly like Ryota to avoid that question, but not Nagito. _What was going on? What was about to happen? Why did he feel so nervous?_

“Nagito?” His voice felt unfairly small, disappearing into the darkness of the room. It felt as if the warmth had been sucked out of the open door. “What’s going on?” 

“Thank you, Ryota. I assume you won’t be staying long.”

“N-no. I was going to--”

“Get some food for you and your horse, alright? Then make sure you get home as quickly as you can.” He placed an encouraging hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for helping us. I won’t forget this.” 

Ryota and Hajime’s eyes met for just a moment. It almost felt like he was trying to apologize. Something wormed deep into Hajime’s gut, an awful, familiar sense of fear and apprehension rising back up in his throat. His nails dug into his palms, stepping back away from them both. 

_Helping us._

**_Helping_ ** _us?_

His breath was starting to pick up--the door was looking more and more appealing. Nagito looked up, then. Finally. There was something soft in his face, eyes widening when he saw his expression. He reached out a hand, his body language expectant and stiff. As if he was being beckoned. Like a pet. 

“Come on, sit down. We can talk about this--it’s all going to be alright. I promise.”

No-- _no._ He didn’t _want_ to be comforted, not right now.

So he gave into instinct and did what his body had wanted to do since he’d first woken up in that bed with a collar around his neck, what he only was just now able to.

He ran. 

“Hajime--” 

He didn’t know where he was going, he knew he was being chased. He didn’t know which one of them it was, maybe it was both of them. He didn’t care. Almost immediately the pain in his leg began to grow, but he pushed past it as he ran for the door. Was it an escape attempt? Was it to just get away for a moment? He didn’t know, he didn’t care. Even if he did get out, it wouldn’t be for long. He would be found, that collar locked on and it would _stay._

He wasn’t going to escape. He wasn’t even going to be left alone, because he _couldn’t_ be left alone so close to that cursed full moon. 

_“_ Stop _running,_ you’re going to hurt yourself-- _please,_ Hajime--” 

He shoved the doors open, the cold air tearing his throat to shreds. And yet he ran, ignoring his burning lungs and legs and Nagito and Ryota behind him. But Ryota instead jumped on his horse and left out a different-- _open_ door. _A way out. God, there had been a way out this whole time._

His mind was dark and panicked, filled only with fear and the primal urge to _escape._ He was fast. Faster than he had been before, even with his hurt leg. He could do it. He _could_ do it. 

It was almost an animalistic urge, something deep and inhuman in him pushing him to _run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run--why, what was he DOING and why did he want to go anyway? What was the purpose of leaving?_

_“HAJIME!”_ Nagito skidded right in front of him, grabbing him by the shoulders. “What’s going on?” His name, Nagito never used his name unless something was wrong. “Are you alright? Talk to me.” 

He didn’t have the presence of mind to form those words, instead slumping to his knees in front of Nagito. His eyes stung, the cold air ripping through his shirt. Goosebumps raised all over his skin, shivers wracking his body. It was freezing--his hands quickly going numb. 

“Come. Let’s go back inside, pet.” Nagito slowly pulled him up to his feet and led him back into the castle. The rooms felt darker than they had before. Colder. 

He was led up those old, broken steps, ushered into that same study. His eyes closed and he sank into the chair Nagito sat him in. His head rested in his hands, the warmth of the fireplace not penetrating his skin. 

“Tell me what’s wrong, darling,” he said gently. He barely even took notice of the new name, the hands that closed over his own. He’d pulled off his gloves, his freezing palms pulling his hands down from his face. “It’s going to be alright. We knew this was going to happen, didn’t we?”

“Ryota said you set traps,” he whispered, his throat feeling hoarse. Ryota--where had he gone to? Why had he looked so guilty? “You’re going to hurt them, aren’t you?”

“I set up obstacles so if your friends came, they would be delayed or discouraged. They will not be hurt, unless they turn out to be exceptionally dull. And if they get inside….I will do only what I absolutely have to to keep everyone safe, I promise.” He took Hajime’s hands in his own, his expression soft. But the nerves didn’t slow. He slumped forward, an ugly exhaustion weighing down on his very bones. It was like there were ashes in his throat and stones in his stomach. He felt sick. 

“I’m afraid. I don’t want my friends to be hurt. I don’t want to be the one who hurts them.”

Nagito rescinded any offer of comfort, seeming almost regretful. Their eyes didn’t meet. They hadn’t talked much this week, just tests of self-control and painfully quiet meals. (Why had he gone too fast and offered himself like that? Why had it hurt so much when he was refused? He was only trying to help--trying to be useful.) It was making everything worse now, that this odd softness had returned.

It felt like pity, almost. Pity was the last thing he wanted right now. He didn’t want someone to look down on him, cooing because they felt bad about his plight. He especially didn’t want that pity from Nagito. 

“I won’t let you hurt them. You’ll be on a leash. I’ll lock you somewhere if I must--I don’t want people to get hurt.”

“And I assume you’re going to play the villain again,” he sighed, too tired to add any sort of his usual edge to his voice. “Blame everything on yourself, right?”

“I’m only trying to keep you safe.”

“You should be trying to keep _them_ safe. Not me. I’m going to be fine.”

“You don’t remember--” 

“I don’t. No. And I’m not going to remember again, am I?”

He shook his head. “It takes years of experience and self-discipline to retain those memories. You won’t have that control for quite a while--you’ll have gone home long, long before then.” 

“That feels like it’s never going to come.”

Nagito seemed to deflate. “It will. I promise you that it will.”

“Not if I--”

“Please don’t be afraid about whatever happens tomorrow night. I’m going to take care of you.” 

“I don’t _want_ to be taken care of. I want to go _home,_ and I want this to be _over._ I wish this had never happened, and I wish I had waited until the day--”

“You wish you killed me?” Hurt flashed across his face. 

“God damn it, _no, that’s not what I meant,_ I mean I wish I had waited until the morning to hunt whatever bit me,” he groaned, putting his head in his hands once more. “I just...want to be home.” 

It was quiet, then, Hajime’s eyes burning and Nagito standing up. “I know. But not yet.”  
  
He extended a hand once more, one that he only reluctantly took. “Come on. We need to get ready, alright?” 

“For what?”

“For our guests, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, I hope you enjoyed! tell someone you love them today! drink a glass of water! thank you all for all the kind wishes about my exams :) 
> 
> -fen <3


	25. neckline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nothing is as it seems as the group approaches the castle.

The day was long and endless, and the night was proving the same. The sky felt small and cramped, looming over them like a dark blanket over her head. The wind was light, rattling the leaves and setting teeth a-chatter. There wasn’t a single cloud above them. No animals came near them, and conversations were either hushed or nonexistent. She gripped the reins tightly in her hands. Her legs were sore from hours in the saddle, with far more left to go. They’d left at dawn yesterday, riding hard with barely any time for breaks. 

The air only got colder as they climbed up through the woods and up a mountainside that would promise to only get steeper. Their breaths practically froze in the air as they went up. The sky was clearer up here, the expanse choked out by pines and oaks alike, but a celestial carpet to gawk at when the treeline broke over their heads for a precious few moments. 

“At least it’s pretty up here,” Peko said wistfully, pulling up her horse next to Chiaki. “There are certainly worse paths to take.” 

“Are you cold too?” she asked, her hands still numb in her mittens. Peko seemed to be adequately dressed, but Chiaki couldn’t be the only one who was shaking in her clothes. A thick wool cloak was wrapped around her, and a scarf covered her neck and mouth. She’d stuffed her grey braids into a red hat, one she’d knitted herself. She’d made one the Chiaki wore as well, in plain white yarn that kept her ears warm unlike any other hat she’d ever made. And yet she was still cold--she couldn’t imagine how frigid the air would be when winter settled over the countryside. 

“Somewhat, yes. But I’ve never been one who chills easily. Are you? I do have a blanket in my bag, if you need one.” Peko leaned over carefully and unlatched the saddlebag, pulling a rolled blanket out and handing it over. “Make sure you keep your strength up. Akane has some warm cider if you need it.”

She accepted it gratefully, wrapping it under Hajime’s cloak. It was too big, but she couldn’t bring herself to wear the one that belonged to her. It was still hung up on a hook in their home, their cat happily napping in front of Ibuki’s hearth. The cat had been waiting by the door daily for the last month, sadly returning to sleep in Hajime’s bed when he inevitably didn’t arrive. 

Chiaki had only left his bedroom door open for the cat. She could barely stand to look into his room, bed still unmade and closet left open. It was like he’d only stepped out for a moment, ready to walk back in at any moment. Though even when (she had to force herself to say _when,_ rather than _if)_ he came home, he would likely not be back in their home right away.

Mikan had a bed waiting for Hajime, just in case. His appearance was burned into her mind, the bruises on his neck and the shadows under his eyes leaving her up at night. The mirror had been something she’d avoided since she came home, but it wasn’t unlikely that she had her own matching set of undereye bags. 

Everyone, even now, had extended great amounts of kindness to her. There had been a slew of hugs and gifts and hot meals given to her, all accented with kind, worried words. She hadn’t cooked since she had come home, and maybe that was for the best. As soon as he was home, she’d cook for all of them several times over. The only reason she’d been able to go on, to get here out on this journey, was their endless kindness. She bundled the blanket around herself, giving a little smile to Peko. 

She grinned back. There was no mirth in either of their eyes, but there was a mutual understanding between them both. The sword slung at Peko’s hip was waxed and sharpened to perfection, coated in silver and hanging next to a flask of holy water. Her posture was ramrod straight, her riding posture perfect. She was tired, they all were tired. At least she was better at hiding it than Chiaki.

She nodded and urged her horse forward, going to check on Nekomaru and Akane. They’d all been riding in groups of two or three, the members switching and shifting to both to keep watch, let others eat and rest, or even just trying to keep spirits up. Even though the mood was somber and most of them quiet, little conversations popped up here and there. 

His name stayed out of their mouths the whole time. They weren’t facing what they were heading towards, at least, they weren’t being overt about it. But she knew, at least, she hoped, that they were all thinking of where they were going. It wasn’t as lonely of a journey as it was the first time, certainly not quite as frantic, but she still felt small. 

Komaeda’s smile cut across her thoughts, his infuriating smirk feeling like it was slashed into her. Her head throbbed where he’d struck her. It almost felt like a warning. She’d never felt that powerless, staring at a well-dressed man with fangs that glistened every time he spoke. 

She would not feel any sort of guilt when he was dead and burnt. Perhaps it was wrong, but she would not be opposed to being the one to do it. There was a stake in her bag, there was a stake in everyone’s bag. Nobody was going to leave without a fight. Nobody was going to let it go like it had before--she would _not_ fail again.

The path stretched up seemingly endlessly, shrouded in shadow. 

And up they went, following the light of Gundham and Sonia’s lamps, lighting up a map they were closely following. It was all they had to get them up to the castle--an old map that Chiaki had followed on her own trip up. She’d handed it over without hesitation, feeling (perhaps irrationally) unfit to lead the group. She was in the middle of the group, often checked on by the others. 

It felt like pity--but she couldn’t bring herself to be truly upset about it.

Her ears perked up, her hair rising on the back of her neck. She rode up to Fuyuhiko, gently tapping his shoulder.

“Yes?”

“...do you hear someone galloping?” Her voice carried across the group.

Everyone fell dead silent and stopped in their tracks. And then they all heard it loud and clear--someone was coming, and coming quickly. Blades were drawn. 

“Stay close,” Fuyuhiko mumbled, his vicious knife shining in the choked moonlight.

“I can hold my own.” But she moved a little closer despite it. 

Whoever was coming only grew closer and closer, until a beige horse seemed to burst from the bushes, a frantic rider making his way to the front of them all. He was pale and thin, short and his hair tied back but falling into his face.

“...Ryota?”

No, he wasn’t pale. He was stark white, looking shell-shocked and terrified. 

“Mitarai? Why in the _world_ are you--”

“You can’t go up this way,” he gasped, cutting Sonia off. “There are traps, the gates are locked.” His words were punctuated with heavy breathing and gasping breaths, his hand clutching his chest as he tried to regain his breaths. She sheathed her knife and began to urge her horse forward. He wouldn’t meet her gaze--he was staring at the cloak around her shoulders. His face seemed to go ashen. 

“What do you mean? Why are you here? Why do you know this?” Sonia pushed, her voice firm but not yet unkind.

“I...I don’t have time to explain. But I promise I’m telling the truth, and I can take you up the safe route...but...you shouldn’t go up there.” 

Her mind flashed back to going into his shop. He’d seemed uncomfortable, almost like he had _wanted_ her to go. 

“What do you know that we don’t, Ryota?” Chiaki asked quietly, but not weakly. “Why do you know all of this? Why shouldn’t we be going up there for our friend?” Her grip on the reins was so tight that they might have snapped. 

He gulped. “I should have said something sooner. I’m...I’m sorry. But I…”

“You what?” Nekomaru demanded. “Spit it out like the man you are!”

His face sank and he hung his head. “I’m...no man. I’m just a coward doing what I should have done far long ago. I’ve been working against all of you this whole time. I...” his hands were shaking as he held his reins. “I’ve been helping Komaeda. I’ve been...spying...for years. He knows you’re coming--I told him, I told him weeks ago, and he’s…he might have convinced Hinata to stay with him, I don’t know, but...”

“There is no need to ramble, Ryota,” Sonia cut him off. “Are you telling the truth? Why would you tell us this, if you have been working for him as long as you say you have?”

“I promise I’m telling the truth!” he protested. “I...I can’t explain now, you’re all running out of time. Please, _please_ trust me--I know this is ridiculous and you have no reason to listen to me, but if you get delayed you’ll be in a lot more danger than before. You’re going to put Hinata in danger, too.”

Her stomach fell into an endless pit. He’d been _helping_ keep Hajime captive the whole time? He’d been working against them? Had she been holding something, she would have dropped it. All they had been banking on was the element of surprise. And they didn’t have even that? And he was still discouraging them from going up?

Something numb hollowed out her bloodstream. 

“You need to explain, before we do _anything_ with you.”

“You’re not going to believe me--”

“I do not _care.”_ Sonia had seemingly transformed in front of them instantly, going from a concerned friend to their indisputable leader, someone who had demanded and earned everyone’s respect. She was not asking to be obeyed--she was expecting to be obeyed. “You are _going_ to answer my questions, Ryota Mitarai, and you are _going_ to answer them truthfully. _Now.”_

His horse took a step back. Ryota sighed, crumbling in on himself. It looked almost as if he was about to fall out of his saddle--he seemed absolutely exhausted. Weighed down by both physical exertion and mental anguish and shame and perhaps a million other things. 

His voice was somber and final.

“He wants to stay. He said it himself. If you try to take him, he’s not going to let you.”

Chiaki pushed her horse forward and shoved past Sonia and Gundham. “I know what I saw, _Mitarai_ . I know _what he said._ Don’t you _dare_ try and lie--”

“And I know what _I_ saw. I...I’m sorry, I didn’t want to do this. I never wanted to keep him away from all of you! I just...I don’t want you all to be put in danger for someone who isn’t going to go home with you.”

“What the traitor describes is akin to enchantment, if both speak the truth,” Gundham decreed. “It is paramount Hajime is retrieved, before he falls forever into the creature’s ensnarement.”

Ryota balked. “No--please, you really should go home--”

“Take us up, Mitarai.” 

“But…”

Sonia’s gaze was steely. Murderous. She didn’t need to hoist a weapon to make it clear what consequences would follow if he disobeyed. “That is an order.” 

He further slumped into his saddle, some strange resignation taking over his form. “...this way. Follow me.”

\--

Hajime squeezed his eyes shut when the collar was clicked around his neck. He didn’t want to look at the mirror across the room, how Nagito didn’t show up and left the image of him in it completely unobscured. There was fear in his eyes. He hated how clear it was that he was terrified. 

The sun was coming closer and closer to rising--the sky had begun to lighten. They were running out of time. His friends were coming for him and he was going to turn them away. They were going to fight for their lives and he wasn’t even going to try and escape with them. Hajime felt like he was betraying them. 

Nagito knelt in front of him, carefully taking his hand. His gloves had returned, cool silk closing over his rough palms. “We’re going to be alright. We can get through this. I promise.”

“You’re not making this any easier. I don’t want to have to do this.” 

He pulled Hajime up onto his feet. “You know you’re keeping them safe. I’m...proud of you, for making this decision.” 

They left Hajime’s room, walking reluctantly hand-in-hand to Nagito’s. The question was whether they even wanted to hold onto each other or not, because pulling away wasn’t a terrible option. And yet, he held fast. His feet sank into a soft rug thrown over the stone, the room richly appointed in shades of red and gold with dark wood furniture.

“...I thought you slept in a coffin?” he asked, staring at the large bed pressed against the wall. Every window had been coated in black paint and covered with heavy curtains. There wasn’t a bit of light except from a bedside lamp.

“A common rumor. Some do, but it isn’t a requirement. I’ve found it...not to my tastes.” 

He closed and locked the door behind them, putting a chair under the knob for good measure. “We’ll stay here for now. As long as we stay out of the light, we can take turns keeping watch while the other rests.

“If they bring up Nekomaru, a chair is not going to keep him out.” The door was solid, so was the seat, but he had no doubt that whoever was coming was going to come armed and angry. Chiaki would beat that door down herself if she had to. 

“I’ve locked various other doors through the castle. A confusion tactic, should they get here before nightfall and begin to search.”

The hearths had been darkened, the food in the kitchen either hidden or brought up so Hajime wouldn’t go hungry through the day. Nagito sat down on the edge of his bed, patting the space next to him. 

He sighed and took his place, sinking into the mattress. The chain clanked as he moved--an ugly reminder of what he was about to turn into. He’d been changed into larger clothes, so they wouldn’t rip too terribly. (So he’d still be more clothed than he had been before when he turned back into a man.) 

“If they are here and night falls…” Nagito trailed off, looking carefully at the collar. “I’m not going to lie. I’m going to be cruel with you in front of them, should they find us. If we’re found, I will put on whatever pretense I must to keep the blame away from you.”  
  


“But--”

Nagito took the chain in his hand. He didn’t tug, didn’t pull. It just rested in his palm. 

“I don’t want to scare you. I don’t want you to be caught off guard. I will _not let you hurt anyone._ But whether you are man or animal...and we’re found...I will have to live up to their expectations, won’t I?”

“Why can’t you just explain what’s going on--why can’t you let me--”

His hand closed over the chain. He still didn’t pull. But the message was clear. “I’m sorry, pet. Truly, I am, I promise. But you aren’t going to be believed. Ask yourself honestly: if you told Chiaki that you chose to stay now with what she saw the last time she came, would she believe that it was a choice you made of your own volition?”

He froze. “No.” No, she wouldn’t. He’d cried into her shoulder, been unable to so much as stand up without significant effort. There was a healing bite mark and a _collar_ on his neck. He was no longer a reliable source about his own feelings. 

Nagito seemed to notice how he deflated. “...I hope you know I take no joy from this. No matter what happens, no matter what show I put on, this is not what I want to do to you. If you hate me for this, I will accept it.”

“I’ve said that I don’t hate you.” He was tired already. “...do what you have to.”

“I truly am sorry.” 

“Please--please stop apologizing!” he exclaimed, pulling his chain back. “I...I’m not mad at you for this! If anything, you’re the _last_ person I’m upset at! The only person I’m angry at is myself! If I had just not been _stupid,_ none of this would have happened!”   
  
“Listen to me. You’re _safe_ here. You’re going to be safe with me. This is _not_ your fault,” Nagito said sternly. He slowly reached out and tilted Hajime’s chin up, gently making eye contact, making it easy to pull away should he want to. He found that he didn’t want to when his breath hitched. “You are not stupid. You are not in the wrong. All you did was get bitten.” 

“Nagito, I just...I’m scared,” he admitted. “And I feel like this is all my fault--everyone is doing all of this because of me! If I had been more careful, everyone would be fine now.” 

He moved just a little closer, and closer, and closer. Until they were right next to each other, their legs almost pressed together on the bed. His free hand picked the chain back up once more, and Hajime didn’t even balk. He was being pulled in, giving into the comfort that he desperately needed, even if he didn’t want. 

“It isn’t your fault.” His voice was soothing and low, a little smile on his face. His fangs poked out from his grin, something Hajime couldn’t believe he ever thought was ugly. They were just a part of him, something that shouldn’t have ever been seen as less than just...Nagito. And ugly was not a word he would ever dare to use to describe him. 

He let out a breath, falling contentedly into the contact. “If you say so. It’s impossible to fight with you, you know that.”

“That’s right. I don’t like to let you win, do I?” 

“Not at all.”

Nagito fell back, for just a moment. “...do you mind if I try to comfort you, now? Would you mind if I touched you again? I know you’re afraid. I know I’m not good enough to fully assuage those fears, and I never will be. In fact, it seems I can make them worse. But--”

“It’s alright, Nagito. You don’t have to ask before you touch me.”

“Well, I was raised with some semblance of manners,” he said lightly, wrapping Hajime in an embrace and pulling him close, leaning his head into his chest. He stroked his hair, holding him protectively. Another shift, and he was fully in Nagito’s lap, resting against him and savoring the plain, basic intimacy he needed far more than he was willing to admit. 

He was glad Nagito couldn’t see him blushing. 

“You know…” Komaeda mumbled. “I didn’t want to turn you down, pet. I wanted to take your offer, actually...but blood from one source can be...addicting.”

“Oh.”

“Once was too much. Not just because I took from you as a punishment, but because it made me far more attached than I should be.”

His eyes widened, and he looked up at Nagito. “I...I don’t mind...if you’re attached. I’m...I guess I felt that, too.” There was no harm in admitting to it.

Nagito smoothed his hair back, looking almost mournful. “It’s unfair of me to ask anything from you, when we’re in a bind like this. But...well, I suppose this sounds bad, but…” he chuckled a little. “I’ve wanted you in my lap for a long time.” Hajime wasn't about to lie and say he hadn't been entertaining the same thoughts for far longer than he should have--that their distance the past week had made him ache.

Each little touch was like a jolt down his spine--an idea beginning to form in his mind. “You said you would perform, if they found us.”

“Mm. I did say that, yes.”

“And you’re absolutely sure this is the best way to keep them away from me? By making yourself their villain?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Hajime’s breath caught, and he leaned in just a little too close for comfort. He was dancing with the devil--now it was time to commit. This was for his friends, his family. And if he was honest? It was for himself, too.

“Then _perform. Put_ me in your lap. Use the collar. Do what you have to--do what you _want_ to.” 

The smile that spread across Nagito’s face was purely wicked. “You’re a bit devious, aren’t you?”

He carefully leaned forward, pressed a treacherous kiss to the corner of his mouth. It was hesitant, a test. Hajime’s heart went wild, beating so fast it might hammer out of his chest. 

It only grew when he grabbed Nagito’s shirt and pulled him in, their mouths crashing together. This was a bad decision--God, why did he have to act on his instincts _now?_ This was the furthest thing from an act, this was something that was in the making since they’d had their first shouting match. This was inevitable.

His lips were cold, but that didn’t matter. 

Hajime pulled back, an equally vicious grin playing across his lips. _I’m keeping them all safe. I’m keeping them safe. I can make this better for us all. If indulging us both keeps them all safe, it’s alright._

_This is for the best._

“Let’s raise hell together, Nagito.”

“I wouldn’t have anything less, pet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i hope you enjoyed!!!! you are loved !!!!!!!!!! -fen <3


	26. blinded eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is looking for someone who's hiding from them. TW: emetophobia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 10K HITS????????? <3 <3 <3

Ryota had lied to them. He’d lied to protect Hajime. He’d considered telling the truth, in fact he had planned on it--until he opened his mouth. He was already a traitor to both sides--it was the last he could do to keep that one secret...secret. He was cold to the bone, but he barely felt it for the fear that numbed every nerve in his body. He was playing both sides and losing on both ends. Not only was he betraying both groups, neither of them would benefit. 

This had been a mistake, this was going to be a disaster. It was just the question of who was going to kill him first: Sonia, Komaeda, Nanami, or Hinata. 

The castle came closer and closer as they rode up the steep mountain path. By now the sun had risen, frost melting and dripping down from branches and leaves clinging to their last gasp of life. He pulled his cloak tighter around him, icy gazes boring holes into his back.  _ They all hate me now.  _ It was merited, deserved--he was wrong for every decision he’d made this whole time. No matter who he picked, he was wrong.

There were swords drawn at his back. If he decided to try and persuade them to reconsider again, they’d be introduced to him. So he just led them up, and up, and up.

The sky was blue and cloudless. The sun was shining brightly overhead, filtering down through the twisting branches and trees. How could such a pretty day hold such a sour set of events to come? 

There was silence behind him. Complete, utter, viciously frigid silence. They were all furious with him. _ Enraged.  _

The castle towered over them, spirals stabbing up into the sky as if it was about to puncture it. Ryota had never felt this nervous approaching it. If it went as the group wanted it to, Komaeda would be dead by tonight. If it went as Komaeda wanted it to, they would be gone and Hinata would be kept.  _ He had run.  _ He...didn’t seem scared, more overwhelmed. He accepted the comfort from Komaeda when he was stopped. 

He’d been walking on his own legs.

He gulped. “We’re here.”

“So let us in,” Sonia commands, coming up next to him. Her gaze was pure steel. “Do not delay any longer.” 

He sheepishly pulled the key from his shirt. Fit it into the keyhole. Turned it, letting the door swing open. It had this awful sense of finality about it, the way the door creaked into an empty courtyard he’d never seen illuminated by the daytime. The sun showed how truly in disarray it was, weeds bursting through cracked and uneven stones, laying limp and dead in the chill air. 

They filed in, spreading out and tying their horses to old posts. Nanami’s eyes were trained on the door to the inside. She called them all over, testing a locked knob. 

A cool gaze turned and settled on him. “Key, Ryota.”

He balked, taking a step back. “I don’t...have that one. I’ve only ever been inside once.”

“Is that the truth?” she pressed, staring him down. 

“Y-yes. I swear.” 

“Fine. Nekomaru, get us in.” 

The crack of the door boomed through the massive room. Pekoyama settled a hand on his shoulder and led him inside along with the rest of them. 

“Move in pairs,” Sonia directed. “Leave no door unopened if you can. Look  _ everywhere.”  _

“I know where he was being kept,” Nanami piped up. “We should check there first.”

They felt so  _ loud,  _ making their way up the stairs. Their feet pounded up uneven and broken steps, filtered with brazen  _ light.  _ It’s odd to be here, when the light comes from the windows and not the burning of hearths and candles. The curtains were drawn, thin rays of yellow light cutting out a linear pattern.

It’s colder in here, now. 

Nanami went quiet as they approached the innocently quiet door, drawing more into herself as they got closer.

“Hajime?”

There was only silence in answer. Maybe he was asleep. Maybe he was somewhere else--he was probably hidden in Komaeda’s room, hidden behind a stone door. Still locked in that collar, both of them desperately hoping they could make it through today and tonight without being found.

Ryota had made such a massive mistake. He’d  _ seen  _ how terrified Hinata had looked when he realized people were coming for him. He was only making things worse, and  _ God,  _ he’d fucked it all up. Why had he  _ betrayed  _ them? So they could see for themselves why they need to stay away? Or for them to know that he was...fine? Maybe? Or did he not want to see them get hurt?

This was going to be a disaster.

Chiaki’s hands shook when she turned the knob. Everyone took in a collective breath when she opened the door. 

Empty. 

The look on her face broke his heart.

\--

Hajime had a hand clapped over his mouth the instant they heard the steps pounding up the stairs. Nagito was exhausted but still awake, the curtains tied shut and all sunlight kept firmly out of the room. The door was snapped shut and locked. Barricaded. 

“We can do this,” Nagito mumbled. “I promise. It’ll be alright.” 

Hajime felt the acid growing in the back of his throat, his feeling so queasy and weak that he’d vomit if he even got up. They were  _ here.  _ They were  _ here and only a few doors down.  _

Nagito’s hands wrapped around him, holding him close. “I promise.” 

“I know,” he choked out. “I know. But I’m still scared.” Terrified.  _ Terrified.  _ Chiaki was here again, probably with their friends. And he knew deep in his soul that they were out for blood. 

“Nothing is going to happen to you.” He smoothed Hajime’s hair down, tucking him into his shoulder. “I’ll keep you safe. I’ve told you that since you woke up, didn’t I?”

“I’m worried about  _ you.  _ They’re here to  _ kill you,  _ Nagito.” He fists his hands in Nagito’s shirt, grasping onto something tangible. He could lose him tonight, or lose his friends, most certainly lose his own humanity, at least for a night. 

“They aren’t the first to try, pet. I’m not worried about myself.”

“But  _ I am.” _

“They can’t get in here. I will lock you in here if I need to keep you away from them.”

“I want to keep you safe, too--”

Nagito pulled them up from the bed. Their hands were locked. Something had changed--his mouth still tingled from where they’d touched. Kissed. He’d kissed Nagito Komaeda. Maybe if everything else around him hadn’t pulled him in 30 different directions, he’d be a lot more...shocked about it. He’d probably have questioned himself a thousand more times--why did he kiss him? Why did he just insert himself into the role of performer? Why is he pledging lying to his friends like this?

And yet, he felt safer than he had before. They weren’t going to fall apart into a shouting match, weren’t going to go for the other’s throat at the first opportunity. They were a real kind of team, as strange and antithetical as it was. 

“You have enough on your plate. Trust me,” he said, smiling gently. He looked exhausted, small marks beginning to show under his eyes. 

“You need to rest. Trust...trust me for a little while and get some rest.”

“I’ll be just fine--”

“We can take turns. You take a nap for a while, I’ll rest when you wake up. Is that okay?” He gestured to the bed, pulling the sheets back. “You need to sleep and be at your best for when they come for us.” His mouth felt sour as he forced those words out. He’s betraying his friends. He’s  _ betraying his friends for Nagito.  _

_ And he doesn’t even feel that bad about it.  _ He’d started to take care of the person who’d bitten and drank from him. He’d begun to...feel soft for him. Like him. Care for him. Maybe something else had begun to grow too, but he couldn’t even begin to think about that right now. 

“Are you certain? You should sleep first--”

“Go to bed, Nagito.” 

He sighed and chuckled, shaking his head. “Very well. I guess I can take an order from you at least once, can’t I?” 

“I think I’ve earned you listening to me for once,” he said, sitting down as Nagito reluctantly folded himself into bed. “I’ll make sure nothing happens. I promise.” 

“I trust you, puppy.” His eyes are closed and he’s asleep in minutes. 

The silence overtook the room in an instant--Nagito didn’t breathe when he slept. It was only Hajime, now. He slumped forward in the chair, head buried in his hands. Before long, they’d be outside the door, and he’d hear their voices. They’d try to get through, call for him, and he’d have to stay  _ quiet  _ as they tried and failed to break through the door.

He didn’t know how long he’d be able to last when he heard them outside the door. He’d hear their voices, calling  _ his name.  _ Looking for  _ him.  _

He felt sick. 

It was a torturously slow, crawling passage of time in the dark. The sun shined outside and he wasn’t able to see it. He hadn’t seen that light but once since he’d arrived. One day of sunlight in an entire month. 

It hurt more than he thought it was going to. 

Seconds passed. Maybe they were minutes, maybe they were even hours. He didn’t know. He didn’t care to know. His mind was a black scribble, overwrought with all these ugly thoughts and fears. He still had no memory of that fateful night. But his joints locked up at the idea of shifting into something animal--phantom, buried pain washing over his body. 

Maybe he remembered more than he knew. It gnawed at him, as the fire roared away in the hearth. He wanted to open the curtain, squint through the black-painted window to see where the sun sat in the sky, provided he could even remember what to look for. But he couldn’t.

The day could already be over and he wouldn’t know. He would have wasted it hiding, cowering in a mix of terrible, unsure thoughts and growing fear. There were no clocks in Nagito’s room, nor were there any...well, anywhere. He slept in the day and rose in the night. What was the point to a sundial if you never saw the blue sky to use it with?

His ears pricked, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. No.  _ No,  _ it couldn’t be--anything but that. Of course, it was inevitable that someone would make it down this hallway, looking for him. That they would make it in. Who knew how long they had been looking? Who knew how long he’d been sequestered in here at Ryota’s frantic words?

Steps sounded outside the door. Stopped in front of it. 

His heart  _ stopped.  _

Nagito was asleep, an easy target until he woke up. And who knew when he’d wake up? Hajime was alone, locked in his room, a collar circling his neck. And if they broke through, he’d defend Nagito--it wouldn’t be  _ believed.  _ He knew what they were going to think. 

Nagito could--

He burst up from his seat, shaking Nagito’s shoulder. “Wake up,” he hissed. “Someone’s  _ outside the door.”  _

Nagito stirred, but didn’t awaken. Another shake--he was out. He wasn’t going to wake up until he was ready. Hajime had put him to bed.

And now he was alone. He slapped a hand over his mouth, masking his breathing. His eyes burned, his stomach revolted. He couldn’t hold it back any longer--he grabbed a bucket and vomited, terror coating every nerve of his body. 

He could only hope and pray the sound hadn’t escaped past the door. 

The doorknob rattled. “Hajime? Are you in there?” 

_ Sonia.  _

It took everything he had to stay quiet. Sonia had sent him here, after all. Of course she’d be here to come get him  _ now.  _

He was on the floor, his back pressed against the bed. Nagito slept away restlessly above him. 

“Please, Nagito,” he mumbled. Hajime grabbed his hand and  _ tugged,  _ desperately wanting him to wake up. “I’m sorry, please,  _ please _ wake up.”

Nagito rolled over. His eyes fluttered open. “...Hajime? How long has it been--”

Hajime quickly covered his mouth, hoping he would understand. 

The door handle rattled again. “Hajime? Please tell me if you...are actually there.” her voice cracked.  _ “Please.”  _

Nagito sank to the floor beside him. 

They were dead quiet, Nagito pushing himself to be closer to the door than him. A position of defense. “Stay close,” he murmured, so low it was barely audible. 

Hajime nodded, feeling pathetic for clutching to his arm.

The doorknob rattled once more. Nagito stood for just a moment, drawing a familiar sword from its resting place atop the mantle. 

“Just in case.” 

The muffled voices continued outside the door. “I cannot open it.”

“It’s stone, Sonia. Doubt I’ll be able t’ break it down. The lock’ll need to be picked.” Nekomaru.

“Can you do that?”

“I can try.” 

“They won’t get through,” Nagito mumbled, sitting back down. He gathered Hajime into his arms, resting his head on his lap. “I promise. We’re safe.” He rubbed circles into his back, not so much as blinking when he noticed that Hajime had tears in his eyes. 

“It’s alright. Cry if you have to. I can’t imagine how painful this is for you.”

He shook his head, firmly holding back the stubborn urge. Shame grew in his gut. “I already threw up--”

It was only then that they noticed the people outside had gone silent.

“Is someone in there? Hajime, is that you?”

Nagito shot to his feet, pulling Hajime up by the collar. 

“Time to go, love. We make our grand entrance tonight.”

“Wh--” 

_ “Come on.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i hope you enjoyed! make sure you take care of yourself today and let someone know that you care for them. eat some fruit, if you can. i love you!
> 
> -fen <3


	27. cutthroat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the castle is searched from top to bottom--but komaeda and hajime are nowhere to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! i have some really cool news! i opened up a ko-fi. if you'd like to support me or commission me for a fic, please check out this link: https://ko-fi.com/fensden 
> 
> Thanks, and enjoy reading!

They all stood in front of the stone door. 

“I  _ swear  _ I heard voices,” Sonia said firmly, crossing her arms. Through the whole meeting, she’d stared daggers at Ryota, who had the good sense to cower in the back of the group and not try and go anywhere.

“No, I heard them too.” Nekomaru stood to the side, glowering at the lock. “They’ve gone quiet for a while now.” They all stared at each other, sharing unsure and scared glances. This wasn’t a door that could be broken down--solid stone. “But I can’t pick the lock.” 

“Here,” Peko said, coming forward. “I can try and get it open.”

Chiaki and everyone else stood to the side, her palms clammy and her stomach in a riot. They’d been looking for what felt like hours with no trace of Hajime or a vampire. Each room, locked and unlocked, had been absolutely empty. The kitchen had been bare of food, all the hearths dark and ashen. It was as if whoever had been here had left, leaving all traces of themselves behind. All the beds had been made. The study was organized, the chair tucked in and the violin locked into a pretty case. 

Even the organ was coated with a fine layer of dust. 

“Do you think they really heard someone?” she whispered to Gundham. 

“Yes.” He nodded firmly, as if there was no other possible answer. “My intuition tells me that the demon remains with Hinata in his grasp, just beyond the veil of mortal sight.” 

“So you’re sure he’s still here?”   
  


“Undoubtedly.” He placed a firm, reassuring hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring smile. “He will be returned to us soon.”

She nodded, but she wasn’t so sure. Ryota had said Komaeda  _ knew  _ they were coming. What if he had just left? Even if it was the daytime, he could be hiding in a cave somewhere. All she could think about is  _ where  _ they’re hiding. Could it really be behind this door? Could they be just beyond a single locked doorknob?

Peko knelt down in front of the lock and began to work, carefully easing a hairpin into the keyhole. “Just give me a moment.” 

There was silence on the other end of the door. It felt damning. 

Everyone shifted on their feet as she worked--the day was getting later and later. The year was ending and the sky turned dark earlier and earlier in the day. It wouldn’t be long before the sun was down entirely. And then they’d lose what little advantage they had left. 

The door clicked. It was unlocked.

“Alright. You should be able to get in.” 

Chiaki led the charge (everyone kept deferring to her.), slowly closing her hand around the knob and turning it.

She pushed in, and it didn’t budge. 

“It’s stuck. Or barricaded. Or something. Nekomaru?”

He  _ shoved.  _ The door barely gave. 

“Seems we’ve struck gold. Someone doesn’t want us in here.” 

A bit of hope began to rise in her chest. “Do you think he could be in there?”   
  
“...maybe. I know I heard voices.” He  _ slammed  _ into the door, over and over until there was enough give for them to slip in. Once more, Chiaki led the charge. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath, please,  _ please. Please, let him be here. Please let him be behind the door. Please. Please. Please. _

She opened her eyes to a dark, empty room. But the  _ fire was still going.  _ The curtains were drawn, the slivers of the windows that she could see smeared with black paint. But the fire still burned. The bed was unmade. 

“Someone was here,” she breathed, backing into Gundham. “Someone was  _ here,  _ and recently. So how did they...get out of here?”

“There must be a passage, or--can vampires move--”

“A passage,” Gundham interrupted. “Vampires must use doors, just as we do.” 

“Fan out,” Sonia said. “Search for an opening.”

“Alright.” Peko kept Ryota close at her side, a firm hand never away from his shoulder. He looked like he was about to faint. Maybe she could be sympathetic, maybe she had the capacity to be compassionate, but her heart had been burned out. 

She only glared at him. He shirked back, unable to meet her gaze. Peko’s grip on him tightened. 

Chiaki stuck her head under the bed. Nothing. Behind the desk, where Fuyuhiko was looking. Nothing. 

“I’m not seeing anything.” 

“Neither am I.” 

Nobody was finding anything. Nothing inside the closet, nothing on the floor, nothing behind the tapestry, nothing  _ anywhere.  _

“How did they get out?” Sonia mumbled, crossing her arms. “I know I heard voices. I know I did.”

“We believe you.” She wasn’t sure who said it. She could barely see more than a few inches around her, it seemed. Her vision was tunneled, looking desperately for something she knew she was unlikely to find. All that hope for nothing. 

_ Where is he? _

The room was dark and crowded. If all of them couldn’t find it, nobody could, and Hajime was gone. Certainly, he wasn’t here. 

She sat down on a chair, holding her face in her hands. They couldn’t find him. They weren’t going to find him--no.  _ No.  _ She couldn’t start thinking like that, not now. They were way too close to him for her to give up now.

“Break back into your pairs. Check  _ everywhere,  _ even if you have already looked there before.” Sonia stood in the middle of the room, keeping on a brave face for everyone. Her facade hadn’t so much as cracked yet. 

“We will  _ not  _ give up now,” she assured. “Gundham, come with me.” 

Chiaki stayed behind, Nekomaru and Akane staying close. They cast her lingering glances as they branched into the next rooms, opening and checking rooms left and right. 

_ He was here, and not that long ago. So where had he been taken? Where had he gone? _

“Chiaki.” Akane poked her head in the door, giving her a sympathetic look. “We need to keep looking. You can’t stay by yourself!”

She nodded and slowly stood up.  _ He was here.  _ But he wasn’t in this room anymore. It was useless to just...sit and mope.

“Alright.” They followed down the dark hall, lit only by filtered stained glass patterns. The patterns told a tale as they walked, their steps echoing off the stones. A pink-haired queen stared smugly at them from the dyed panes, resting on her throne with a chain in her hand and a shadow at her back. 

Chiaki took ahold of Nekomaru’s free hand, a cold chill overtaking her. She looked away from the stained glass, gritting her teeth. 

“Creepy,” Nekomaru grunted. “Come on. We can smash ‘em later.” 

They opened yet more doors. Empty bedrooms. Empty bathrooms. Empty studies. An abandoned library. Hollowed out, gutted rooms. Cold. Quiet. No Hajime, no Komaeda. 

The sun kept falling behind the horizon. The light turned from golden to orange, shadows getting longer and filling the crevices in their faces. 

They looked under beds, in dusty armoires. Old, forgotten, cobwebbed corners were turned topside. 

Nothing. Nothing.  _ Nothing.  _

“I know he’s here,” she said, her voice almost as small as she felt. “I  _ know  _ the trick was in that room. So  _ why can’t I find him?”  _

“The sun is going down.” Akane ushered her out, handing her a handkerchief. “We need to go back to the throne room and meet up with everyone else before it’s dark. We can’t get trapped alone.”

Her eyes burned. 

“Fine.” Her hands felt numb. 

They walked back in the endless labyrinth. No other sounds came anywhere but from them. It was like it was just the three of them. The silence wasn’t comforting--it wrapped around them like a snake, constricting them and pulling them together. Movements felt slow and sluggish. 

“Come on.” They approached the large doors to the throne room--the sunlight almost gone. Everyone else stood there nervously as they walked in. 

No Hajime. No dead Komaeda, no matter where she looked. Only averted glances and wringing hands. Everyone stood in their own hushed groups, not talking or even looking at each other.

“Nothing?” 

Everyone shook their heads. Nothing.  _ Nothing.  _ A whole day of searching, and there was nothing to show for it. 

Sonia stood at the front of them all. Even her perfect persona had begun to crack. There was worry and guilt etched across her face. “We camp outside. Tomorrow, the searching will resume--people will search outside the castle as well.” 

The sun was almost entirely gone. 

“I...I am sorry,” she admitted. “I was sure we would find him today.”

Nobody said anything.

“We should go, now...before the sun is gone entirely.” Her head was hung, and she clung to Gundham. There hadn’t been much hope to begin with, but at least there had been  _ some  _ morale between them all. 

“And how long do we plan on keeping this going?” Fuyuhiko demanded, his voice popping up from the group. “Another day? A week?”

“I...do not know. As long as it takes to find him or at least some answers.” 

“And if it ends up being a lost cause?”

“I do not plan on organizing a funeral just yet,” Sonia snapped. “Do not give up hope so quickly.” They stared each other down, the room just getting darker and darker. 

She shook her head after a while, breaking their eye contact. “Come. We should go.” 

They all began to file toward the exit, ready to head down those broken stairs. Her heart felt heavy, weighing low in her chest. She wasn’t going to sleep tonight. None of them were. 

The sun had vanished from the horizon. None of them had noticed. 

A voice rang across the room, smug and self-assured.

“Leaving so soon?” 

The door slammed shut in front of them, candles flicking to life all around them. The room went from being a dark chamber to full of rich, orangey light in seconds. Chiaki’s heart froze over in her chest as they all whirled around. 

The throne was occupied, Komaeda staring down at them with a sense of utter triumph in his face. A large cape billowed around him, gloves, corset, and high boots cutting a striking figure. A king on his throne, a devil right out of a painting. Perhaps he could be his own stained glass window.

But she couldn’t care less about how he was dressed. There was a leash in his hands. 

  
And right in front of them, sitting on his lap,  _ locked into a collar,  _ was...

She collapsed to her knees. 

"...Hajime?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!!! as always, i hope you enjoyed. you are loved and cherished, and i want you to have a good day. 
> 
> -fen <3


	28. canines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tensions flare as hajime desperately tries to convince his friends to leave.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe when she and Hajime made eye contact. His hands could be shaking, and yet he made no movement from where he was positioned. 

She stared at him, begging for him to say something, anything. It felt like an impossible feat, but she pulled herself up to her feet. 

He looked away.

Komaeda pulled him close, smirking at them all. “Welcome, my dear guests.”

“Let  _ go of him,  _ you monstrous  _ bastard--” _

“What rude language. First you break into my home and tear down my doors, go through my personal things without permission, and even after I welcome you regardless, you speak to me like that?” Hajime said nothing, letting Komaeda do the talking for them both. Or perhaps he was being forced to stay quiet. 

Fuyuhiko charged forward, knife gleaming in his hand. Chiaki was quick to follow. 

_ “Stay back!”  _ It burst from Hajime’s mouth as he desperately threw his hand out. “Stay away from me--before it’s too late--” There was real fear in his voice, a tremble in his hand. 

They both stopped dead in their tracks, staring dumbfounded at him.

“Wh--”

He sighed heavily, seemingly catching himself before settling back into Komaeda’s grip. (The vampire looked disgustingly satisfied with himself, as if he was perfectly assured that he’d won.) “...I’m not going anywhere. Go home, Chiaki.”

“I’m not leaving without you! None of us are!” she protested desperately. “We came all this way for you.” What had  _ happened  _ to him? Why was he telling her to leave--why was he turning them away like this? “You look terrified--”

Komaeda sat up, pulling Hajime close. He didn’t fight--in fact, he leaned into it. The vampire pressed a small kiss to his cheek, taking his face in his hand. 

Chiaki’s joints locked up. 

“Get  _ off  _ of him,” Fuyuhiko snarled, spitting out the words she couldn’t even form. “How  _ dare  _ you touch him like that.”

“Fuyuhiko, it’s fine--”

“It most certainly is fucking  _ not.  _ What’s gotten  _ into you,  _ Hinata?” He started walking again, stomping up the steps to the old throne. “This isn’t you. I  _ know  _ you.”

“Stay  _ back--” _

“No, it’s quite alright. Isn’t it, puppy?” Komaeda grinned. “You can show them your little party trick.” 

Hajime visibly paled, Fuyuhiko  _ lunging  _ forward and grabbing his shirt in his hands. “Come  _ on.”  _

“Let go of me _. Please.  _ I don’t want to have to hurt you--”

The rest stood back while Fuyuhiko distracted, slowly filing around until all exits were inaccessible. If Komaeda tried to run with Hajime, he’d find himself faced with an opponent at every corner. 

But it all came to a standstill when Hajime  _ shoved  _ Fuyuhiko back, his body crashing into the stone below.

“Hinata...” his voice was short and labored, all the wind knocked out of him. “H-Hinata, what are you--”

“Stay  _ away  _ from me. Go  _ home.”  _

“You keep proving yourselves to be unspeakably rude,” Komaeda sighed, locking eyes with her as Hajime grabbed onto his shirt, burying his head in his shoulder. The vampire mumbled something to him, rubbing circles into his back. “Not respecting your friend’s wishes like this? I would expect better behavior from common criminals.” He turned back and pulled Hajime’s chin up, the tenderness in the gesture making her physically recoil. “Do you even want to leave, darling?”

He didn’t so much as hesitate before he answered.

“No.” 

\--

Hajime was shaking, trembling. His hands were white-knuckled in Nagito’s shirt, his eyes burning as he hid his face in his shoulder. However hard he thought this was going to be, it was a thousand times harder now. He didn’t know how he’d been able to shove Fuyuhiko off him. 

But even then, it wasn’t  _ just  _ the gross betrayal of his friends that turned his blood cold. 

“It’s going to happen soon,” he mumbled into Komaeda’s ear. “I know it is. As soon as the moon touches me, it’s over.”

“You’re on a leash. I’m not going to let you hurt anyone.” He kissed him on the cheek again--Hajime knew they were all bristling. They were angry, no,  _ furious.  _ But not with him. Their collective vitriol was directed at Nagito, their simmering gazes falling right  _ next  _ to Hajime. 

Nagito was going to be killed if they didn’t play their cards right. They weren’t  _ listening  _ to him, they weren’t  _ leaving.  _ Not that he thought they would, but he’d harbored at least a little hope that his wishes would be respected. 

Not that there was anything respectable about him right now, wrapped in a collar and sitting in someone else’s lap. Nobody has noticed the bite on his neck, but that couldn’t last for long. Someone was bound to see it and it would all be over. The rage in their faces was barely restrained; they’d all been filled with a good and righteous fury on his behalf. It was something he could do nothing to stop. 

“Is the moon going to--”

“Soon.” Their words were hushed, so quiet nobody else could even hear Hajime’s breathing. “The collar will hold you. I swear.”

“Don’t let me hurt them,” he begged, struggling to hold back unshed tears. Chiaki was calling for him, so were Fuyuhiko and Sonia. He was doing his best to block them all out. But it  _ wasn’t working,  _ and they weren’t listening to him. “Don’t let me hurt them.”

“I won’t.”

‘Hajime!” Chiaki’s voice pierced through whatever pathetic defense he had left. “Please. I know you. Don’t try and push us away. We’re here to help you.”

“Respect the choice he has made of his own accord, why don’t you?” Nagito asked coolly, amusement vanishing from his voice. His grip was strong, firm. He leaned into Hajime’s ear. “Don’t listen to them, darling. You can do this.”

“ _ Release _ Hinata from the hold you have over his soul.” Gundham’s voice filled the room, drenching it with a terrifying sense of determination.  _ They weren’t listening to him.  _ It was just as Nagito had said--none of them believed that he’d made his own choice.

There were tearstains on Nagito’s shirt. Hajime had said he’d play along, but one look at the hollow confusion in Chiaki’s eyes broke him in two. He wasn’t an actor, he wasn’t able to control himself at  _ all.  _ They were going to know. They were all going to know that he wasn’t the friend they’d known. 

“You need to go, Chiaki. You all need to go,” he ground out, his teeth gritted to hide the lump in his throat. “I’m going to come back when I’m ready to come back. You don’t need to worry about me--”

“Hajime, you’re in a  _ collar.”  _

No need to remind him. He could only hope that the candles had been burning low enough for none of them to notice how  _ embarrassed  _ he was. On a chain. Playing pet, in front of everyone who loved him. 

“...there’s a reason for that.” 

The moon seeped in through the curtains, laying silver stripes across the floor. They stayed out of his reach, the throne keeping him protected for now. But not for much longer. He could either hide from it until it shifted and grew and swallowed him whole...or he could rise to meet him. A forgotten pain seized his bones. It was coming. It was coming like a tidal wave and he was going to stand right in its path.

Nagito gave him one last kiss, on the corner of his mouth. Hajime could  _ feel  _ the mix of disgust and revulsion from everyone else directed at them. “Are you ready?”

He took a deep breath and shook his head. “I’m never going to be. Just...just get it over with.”

“I will keep you safe.”

Nagito turned his gaze back to everyone else. “None of you have any idea what happened to him, do you?”

“You took him--”

“I’m not talking about anything I did. What happened to him  _ before  _ he came to me.”

Hajime turned around just in time to see the dots connect for Chiaki. 

“Hajime?” she asked softly, her voice barely carrying across the room. “Is he talking about that bite? It was normal, right? You said it was normal.” 

He couldn’t even get the words out of his mouth before Nagito was speaking again. 

“Why don’t we find out what I did?”

And then he  _ shoved  _ him, Hajime bracing himself for the stone to ring into his back and the collar to snap around his neck. And so it came as he expected it, pain ringing through his body. 

But it didn’t fade when he fell into the moonlight. Fuyuhiko, Chiaki, everyone rushed forward. Someone was--no, someone was trying to get the leash from Nagito--

_ “STAY BACK! STAY AWAY FROM US!”  _

They all stopped in their tracks, knives gleaming with silver that would burn his skin off his body.

“Listen to me. Please, listen to me...you all need to run. You need to  _ go--”  _

It was a  _ battle  _ to force the words out, a familiar pain starting to lance through his veins. 

His organs were changing shape in his body, his very blood shifting to an entirely new composition. Canine teeth that already felt too long only extended further, growing too big for his mouth--the rest of his teeth sharpening into points, scraping his cheeks and tongue until he spat blood. 

He sank from his knees to all fours, his shirt tightening around his chest. No turning back.

“Stay…” he could barely even form the words. “...away.” His vision was blurring, colors shifting to a strange greyscale.  _ So Nagito hadn’t lied. He’d always been telling the truth.  _

_ Control myself. I need to control myself. Keep myself present--what can I see? Nothing. Shades of grey. Who can I trust here? Nagito. I can trust Nagito. And he’s got me on a… _

_ He has me on a leash. I need to listen to him.  _

Voices rang in his ears, going entirely unprocessed as he swallowed and drowned himself in the agony. His nails split in two for claws to burst through them, his vertebrae fusing and cracking apart to reshape him into something that walked on all fours. 

And through it all, the boiling rage began to grow. He stared at everyone in front of him. 

He hated them.

It was irrational, but when the very shape of his brain was being contorted into something new, he had bigger problems.

He went to yell at them, to scream  _ something,  _ but it came out as a low growl. It said enough, he thought blurrily, watching these people, these enemies, this  _ prey  _ back away from him. 

It wouldn’t be long until he stopped thinking entirely.

There was no recognition of anyone around him. He was nothing more than a wolf, guided by instinct that he’d only tasted once and yet knew as intimately as if he’d been born with them.

He snapped against the collar around a neck covered in fur, pulling so he could chase them out, so he could sink teeth into flesh. Self-control was a foregin concept--the only hold left on him was a metal collar and chain. 

There was nothing human left about him. He had no name, unless the man holding his leash gave him one. He had no orders, unless the man holding his leash issued them. And even then, he’d make that man  _ fight  _ to have that control over him. 

A hand slowly settled over his head, scratching behind his ears. “Good boy. Come here.” 

A tug on his leash, and he padded his way up the stairs, sinking in between the legs of the pale man.

“Hajime?” Was that his name? It could be now. “Can you understand me?” His voice was far away and distant. But he could comprehend them. 

Hajime nudged his hand, and the petting resumed. “Alright,” the man chuckled, looking at him with warmth and amusement. “Good.  _ Good. _ You listen to me, right?”

This was the one who slashed his leg. He’d proven himself in a previous battle--he’d defeated Hajime fairly. And so he submitted, growling at the other people standing around them. 

“No. You leave them be,” the man said sternly. “I’d rather not deal with you if you killed your friends.” 

He looked away and addressed the group. “Do you all see now, why I’ve kept him from you? As tempting as it was, he hasn’t stayed simply because I wanted him. Until I’ve finished with him, it isn’t safe for him to be around all of you.”

“Bullshit. We can handle him--”

“Would you like me to let him off his leash, then? He doesn’t submit unless he’s defeated in a fight. Something tells me that’s not a battle you can win.”

“And you did?”

“Why do you think he’s on a leash now? Do you think he just sat down and let me put it on him when he came to my home to kill me?”

He stayed still and stared. Stared. Stared. The men kept bickering, There was one girl at the front of them all, someone who looked terrified and pale.

He had no idea who she was. He didn’t particularly care, either. 

It seemed she cared. She stared at him, something broken in her face. And then stepped forward. Began to come closer to him. 

He bared his teeth. And she came further forward anyway. 

“Hajime? Can you hear me?”

It was so much effort to listen. He didn’t  _ want  _ to listen to her--all he would care to listen to was the man who had defeated him. He’d won his respect. 

“Stay  _ back  _ from him,” the man warned, pulling taut on his leash. “He has no idea who you are--he only listens to  _ me.” _

Hajime wanted to tear her to shreds. The closer she got, the larger the urge got. Even if the man told him not to, he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to restrain himself. He wanted her  _ dead,  _ the feeling of flesh tearing in his mouth.

“So this is what you meant when something was wrong with you,” she mumbled softly, kneeling just out of his range. He snapped at her, kept firmly away from her. “Did you lie to keep me safe? Or did you just really not know?”

“He didn’t know either, Miss Chiaki. Now  _ get away from him.”  _

“Chiaki! Get  _ back!”  _ A man in dark clothes came rushing up and pulled her away from him. She fought against the stranger, desperately reaching out for him. 

He snapped his teeth--her fingers just barely escaping his jaws. He swiped with his claws next--catching her arm and slicing ribbons into it, scratching the man’s leg as well. It wouldn’t debilitate them, but the way she cried out was like music to his ears. 

_ “No.”  _ The leash was yanked back, pulling Hajime’s head into the man’s cold hands. He smoothed his fur down, doing his best to soothe him. “I’ll feed you later, pet. You don’t hurt them.” 

He was hungry  _ now. Ravenous.  _ Ravenous, and unbelievably angry. It felt like his blood was boiling, like the collar was holding him back. 

“Hajime,” the girl pleaded, shoving her way out of the man’s arms and running back towards him, clutching a bloody arm all the while.  _ “Hajime.  _ I  _ know  _ you.”

“Chiak--”

“Gundham, let me try this. Please.” 

The man leaned over him, resting an elbow on his head. “Do your best. When he’s like this, he’s mine.” And so he leaned down, whispering into a sensitive ear. “Don’t you hurt her any more, puppy. You’ll punish yourself for it until the day you die. You’re already going to punish yourself for this.” 

It wasn’t as if he cared about punishment right now. But he did reluctantly comply with the order, slinking back even further. (If only to keep himself away from her.) 

She smiled softly, despite the heartbreak in her eyes and the way blood seeped through ripped fabric. “Hajime. You know me. I know you do. But you don’t recognize me right now, so is it okay if I introduce myself to you again?” 

He snarled. She was dripping onto the floor.

“My name is Chiaki Nanami. You’ve lived with me since you were seven years old. You’re my best friend and my brother. We have a little cat that you’ve always said you hated, but you get upset when it doesn’t sleep with you in your bed. She’s been waiting for you by the door every day since you left. And when you don’t come back, she gets upset and sleeps in your bed. I leave the door to your room open for her.” 

None of this mattered. Nothing about this  _ mattered.  _ He  _ lunged,  _ choking himself on the leash as he pulled against it. Someone screamed, the man tried his best to pull him back.

She didn’t move. She didn’t even blink. “Your favorite color is green. You get covered in freckles in the summer because you spend all your time outside. When it gets too hot out, you like to sleep on the roof. Nobody knows how you haven’t fallen yet.”

“This is all useless drivel,” the man snapped. “Get  _ away  _ from him, before he tries to bite you. You’ll be in the same boat if you keep this up.” 

“Let me speak to Hajime--let him  _ go--” _

This was annoying. Loud. There were too many noises, coming from all around. They were bickering and fighting and it all felt so  _ useless.  _ He wanted to rampage. Rage. Anything, to work off the pressure in his head and find some peace and quiet. 

He barked angrily at her, snapped at her fingers. Anything to shove her _away_ or get his teeth in her. He didn’t know who she was. He didn’t care who she was. She was just an irritating piece of prey, the smell of her blood driving him mad.

“If I let go of him now, you’ll be his first victim. Of course…I always could. It would be good for you to learn your lesson. I did already try to teach it to you once, after all.”

Something like horror took over her face when the leash began to slacken. He charged forward, still kept  _ just  _ out of her range. It felt like he was playing a game with them all.

Another woman rushed up with the man in dark clothes, pulling the annoyance back. The man took her and fled, but the woman stood firm, a pillar of steel for a spine. 

“I will come back tomorrow night to negotiate for him.  _ Alone.  _ He will be out of that collar and able to speak for himself. No enchantments, no persuasions. Is this an agreeable set of terms,  _ uncle?” _

“Of course,  _ niece.  _ Not that he’s been put under any persuasion in the first place. _ ”  _ Hajime was nothing more than an animal, but even  _ he  _ could detect the venom dripping from their voices. He bristled, ready to defend him. 

“Very well. I will see you then. Everyone, we leave, now.” 

_ “I’m not leaving him--” _

The man cut in once more. “Not you, Ryota,” he said sweetly, beckoning at a short, shaking man in the corner. “You stay right where you are. I’m inclined to deal with you myself. The villagers can have whatever’s left.”

The blonde woman leaned in and whispered to the other girl--loud enough for a wolf to hear. “Please, Chiaki. We are not abandoning him here. We cannot take him back while he is like this--this complicates things. I will bring him back. I promise.”

“But he’s being--”

“Controlled. Right now, it is for our safety. I will bring him back to us. I swear to you.”

The other girl went quiet. The door slammed shut behind them, ringing in his ears. 

He stared up at the man, watching him to see what he’d do next. He smiled softly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He looked exhausted, and yet he locked eyes with the other man, a perfect mask falling over his face once more.

“Come on, pet. Let’s find you a place to run around.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i hope you enjoyed! you are loved and respected and cherished, and everything you do matters. i hope your day is excellent and that you find joy in it. 
> 
> -fen <3


	29. spinal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryota faces his fears, but not because he wants to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiiiiiii guys!!! it's finals week for me!!! so if i don't upload for a week or so, that's why. also, just a quick reminder that i have a ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/fensden

The door slammed shut. Hinata--or the beast that had once been Hinata--snarled at Ryota, tugging on the leash Komaeda had looped around his hand. He was massive, his head reaching up to nearly his ribs. His teeth were as long as his fingers and they were pointed right at him. His eyes were the same green as before. But there was no humanity in them. He’d always had this kindness, in his face. It was no longer there, replaced with a ravenous hunger. Directed. At. Ryota.

His tail was raised high in the air, his hackles raised and his hair standing on end. He had been growling the whole time, staring at him from Komaeda’s side. He slunk around the vampire, wrapping around his waist and making sure they stayed apart.

“Keep your distance from him,” Komaeda warned in an unsettlingly sing-song voice. “You don’t want to be his meal, now do you?”

“W-wasn’t planning on getting any closer.” It was barely louder than a whisper. Komaeda already cut an imposing figure when he was just in his regular clothes. But he was truly terrifying when he dressed for the occasion--cape and corset and heeled boots that made him further tower over Ryota took him from imposing to a stark reminder that he was inhuman. Perhaps that was the desired effect. 

“Good.” His steps clicked down the stone floor. “We have some things to discuss, don’t we?” 

“...I’m sorry.”

Hinata’s claws left marks on the stone floor. 

“Are you? I made it clear what was at stake, did I not?” He looked over. Ryota had seen Komaeda angry, but never angry at him. And never like  _ this.  _ “That Hajime’s safety would be threatened if he was found out, and that he had the potential to hurt someone if he was approached in a compromised position like this? And what happened, Ryota?”

There was still blood on the floor in the throne room. If he had looked out the window when they left, he would have seen them rolling up Chiaki’s sleeve to stitch the wounds. 

“...he hurt someone,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around himself and staring down at the floor. His guilt was gnawing away at him, tearing at his arms the way she’d been hurt. His fault. His fault. His fault.

“And how is  _ he  _ going to feel about that, when he’s himself again?” he asked, opening the door to a dark courtyard. He leaned down and scratched Hinata behind the ears. “Go tire yourself out. I’ll be back for you when I’m finished with our friend.”

He tore through the door, Komaeda slamming it behind him and locking it. “He only has a few more hours. You will have to answer to him once he rests. Prepare yourself for that. How is he going to feel, knowing he injured one of his closest friends? How is he going to feel, knowing that it could have easily been prevented, had you not led his friends up here?” They kept walking, a slender hand settling onto Ryota’s shoulder, claws digging in through layers of fabric. “Why would you put us in this situation?” The smile on his face didn’t reach his eyes.

Ryota gulped. “I--I was trying to get them to go home. But they were--they were going to get hurt--”

“So you come to them, expose yourself, our arrangement, and Hajime? I fail to see your logic.” 

He hung his head. “I couldn’t lie anymore. I...saw how they all looked. I thought if they saw what had actually happened, they’d...get it, you know?”

“There is a high chance you are going to be killed. And the same for him. And if not killed, at the very least  _ shunned.  _ All I did was to keep him  _ safe _ from them, and you invited them right in.” His hand squeezed harder and dug deeper into his shoulder. Blood began to drip out of the wounds, small red roses blooming across the fabric of his shirt.

“I--”

“Ryota, this is no small transgression. You have altered the path of  _ everyone  _ who came here tonight. Yours. Mine. Hajime’s. Miss Chiaki’s. My great-great-niece Sonia’s. Anyone else who walked in and saw him change form. You have changed  _ everything  _ by bringing them up here.”

“I understand that.”

“Do you?” His eyes flared red then, for just a passing moment. He could have imagined it, but Ryota doubted it. Anger. Rage. At  _ him.  _ It made him want to shrink back, hide behind a door or under a bed. He felt as if he was seven years old again, lost in the woods with nobody looking for him.  _ “Do you?  _ Because if you did, I don’t think you’d have come to them and brought them up here.”

He wrapped his arms closer around himself, scared of being bitten even though Hinata was locked outdoors. But maybe that wasn’t the set of teeth he was preparing himself for. 

“Are you going to hurt me?”

“...no,” he said after a while. “But I did consider it. I’m going to leave you to the villagers. They choose your fate. Consider it a token of goodwill to them from me. I keep Hajime, hand you over to them.” 

Komaeda swept them into his kitchen, striking a stone to light the fireplace and oven. He filled a kettle with water and set it to boil, opening a pantry in search of tea leaves. The small glass container clinked on the counter, the shut door behind them feeling so terribly ensnaring. He wasn’t going anywhere. Ryota had nowhere to run.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the dining table. “The tea will be done quickly.” A single teacup was placed in front of him, the loose leaves scattered in the base of the cup. It was old and high-quality tea, predating perhaps even Komaeda’s arrival to the castle. 

It was something he only tended to bring out if he was expecting his guest to no longer be alive for much longer. 

There was an old wine bottle on the rack. Komaeda pulled it out for himself, uncorking it and pouring out a swirling red liquid into a wineglass. Blood. He must have been hungry, then. 

The tea kettle whistled into a silent room. 

Ryota had goosebumps all over him. Komaeda carefully poured the water into his teacup, the warm steam swirling into his face. Tea was supposed to be soothing, calming, but there wasn’t anything in the world to settle his nerves. 

“Are you really just going to hand me over? I--I’m sorry, I know this was a mistake. I’ve been helping you for years! Are you...you really going to throw me away because I made one mistake?” He cringed, hiding behind his teacup. Of course Komaeda was going to toss him out to the wolves (whether that was going to be literal had yet to be seen). He’d not just betrayed him and broken his trust--he’d put  _ everyone  _ at risk. He deserved any punishment that was being given. 

“I take no joy in this, Ryota.” He took a sip from his wineglass, patting at his mouth with a handkerchief. “You are important to me, you have been important to me ever since I found you. I do not see you just as a source of information, but as a friend. You have hurt me by doing this. The fact that I have to trade you to even start and try to protect Hajime…” he trailed off. “This is far from what I would have ever wanted. I am upset with you. I am angry with you. But I do not like how you have forced my hand.”

“So if you--”

“If I could get away with this by keeping you and Hajime, I would. But they are going to demand you both.” He looked away. “I am angry with you. But I will let them deal with you, even if only to keep balance.”

He didn’t touch the tea. His eyes were burning. He angrily wiped at them with his sleeve, sniffing louder than he would like. “Do you think they’re--they’re going to kill me?”

“My niece does not seem like the killing type. But Hajime has a few friends who may very well be.” He swirled a finger around the rim of his glass. “I would be on your guard.”

“I really am sorry, Komaeda.”

“You have made everything a thousand times more difficult,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I was already exhausted. By the time Hajime turns back to a man, he won’t have slept for two days. And yet, you will answer to him before anyone else. I…” he paused, closing his eyes. “...it is likely he will decide your fate.”

“Are you still handing me over?”

“Yes.”

He steepled his fingers, feeling freezing cold in the kitchen with a roaring fire. His fingers were tingling, beginning to go numb. Hinata must have been freezing outside. Komaeda stood up, catching the color of the sky in his eyes. The stars were dimming, blue creeping over the trees, soon to be followed by pink.

“I will need to rest soon. As will Hinata. Come with me.”

“What?”

A hand closed around his wrist. “You stay with them until he’s ready to deal with you.”

“They’ll probably--” 

He glared at Ryota. And his eyes were perfectly, rigidly  _ red.  _ “Come with me.”

“A-alright.” He was practically dragged along, the way a frustrated mother would pull away her screaming child from the public scene where it had started. The cold halls felt small and oppressive as he was pulled through them, the doors slamming open in front of him feeling like a death sentence. 

“If it isn’t too much to ask, please make sure he stays alive until my pet can talk to him.” His voice rang across an unforgiving courtyard as Ryota fell into the broken stones. “I await you tomorrow night, niece.”

\--

Nagito’s mind was swirling as he locked the door behind him. Wrong. Everything had gone so  _ wrong.  _ If they had come only one day later, everything would have been fine. If Ryota hadn’t gone behind his back, even if he had just  _ waited,  _ everything would have been still under his control. 

Hajime had hurt Chiaki. Someone who he was close to, closer to than perhaps anyone else. Nagito’s heart felt constricted in someone else’s fist as he unlocked and opened the courtyard door. 

“Time to come inside, pet.” The wolf barreled towards him, tackling him mere moments after he could brace himself for impact. It was similar to before, but whatever rage he’d harbored towards Nagito specifically seemed to be gone. They slammed into the floor, a large tongue licking roughly at his face. His tail wagged furiously as he lavished canine affection on him, seemingly unaware how heavy he was. 

“Hey--hey, it’s appreciated, alright, now get off--” 

He didn’t push back that hard, but enough to shove him off and roll over to his side. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get inside before the sun goes up and you pass out.” He took the leash, sitting up and shoving his way back onto aching feet. (He hadn’t worn these shoes in quite some time; they were only for expected guests.) “Back upstairs, alright? Back to my room. I do hope they didn’t tear it apart too much.”

His thoughts were a whirlwind, echoing around him as Hajime happily trotted up the stairs. With all perceived threats gone and some time to run around, he’d mellowed out quite a bit. Nagito was too tired to stop him from gnawing on the end of his cape. 

“This thing is older than you, you know,” he said good-naturedly, snapping it away. “I’ll get you something to chew on next time, okay?” 

Pink and orange began to smear on the horizon, Hajime was slowing down. Tired. He ushered them into the bedroom, sighing at the wreck that had been made. His drawers had been forced open and his things strewn about, the sheets all shoved at the foot of the bed. It would take him quite a while to clean up properly, but that wasn’t a priority at the moment.

“They really had to go through my underwear to find you? You have nosy friends.” He closed the door and began to pick up his clothing, Hajime hopping up on the bed and making himself comfortable in the mess of blankets, a mass of grey fur in a sea of red and black sheets. “I guess we’ll have to deal with Miss Sonia tomorrow night, now don’t we?”

Hajime wasn’t quite listening, certainly not comprehending. He was staring at a black-painted window, at what lay outside his sight. The sun must have begun to rise. He tucked himself into the bed and began to whimper slightly, a sort of primal fear in his eyes. 

“Oh--” he closed the drawer. “You’re starting to turn back, aren’t you?” 

Well--it wasn’t as if he could answer. Nagito sat down next to him, putting his hand over a paw and stroking his head slowly.

At least the change back seemed to be far less painful than the initial transformation. Nagito felt his paws shift back to callused hands under his gloves, fur shrinking and turning to short brown hair. Even though they’d put him in a larger shirt, it had still been tattered by the initial transformation. At least he’d kept his pants. Heavy panting turned to soft breathing, human eyes fluttered shut. 

Nagito pulled the key from around his neck and unlocked the collar, carefully pulling it from his throat. At last, he’d fallen asleep. It was comforting, that he was resting. But it was undercut by a new air of nervousness that made him grateful that he no longer had to wait to fall asleep. As soon as he laid down and closed his eyes, he’d be gone until the sun went down once more.

And yet...he didn’t want to move Hajime anywhere. He was exhausted. He needed to sleep. Perhaps it was a little selfish, but he didn’t want him to have to sleep alone. Nagito wanted him to be with someone when he woke up. 

So he pulled Hajime up next to him and tucked him in under sheets he smoothed with his hands. Once it was done, Nagito leaned down and unlaced his shoes, pulling them off and rubbing his aching soles. Despite the other being asleep, he still stepped behind a screen to change into a simple shirt to rest in. 

Hajime was a quiet and still sleeper. He was little more than a rock in the bed, cuddled up under the sheets and curled in on himself. There was a real sense of peace on his face, almost like he was smiling. It was something Nagito would have moved mountains to see when he was awake. Anything to have him look so peaceful, to look at him like  _ that.  _

There was no peace in the castle. Would there have been, had the others not come in so suddenly? He thought it could have been growing, albeit slowly. Hajime trusted him. He trusted him enough to sit on his lap and take his paltry attempts at comfort and  _ kiss him.  _

He hadn’t expected it to be returned. He’d expected to be shoved away and despised. And then he’d been grabbed by the shirt and kissed him on the mouth, kissed him in a way nobody else ever had. He’d been warm, and soft, and gentle, and looked like he’d wanted nothing more than to keep them together. He wanted to reach out. And yet, he didn’t.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at a mirror that did not reflect him. He didn’t know how he was going to fix this problem. How was he going to keep Hajime safe? How was he going to keep him here? How was he to grapple with the fact that he might have to loosen his grip or even let him go? Nagito turned back, staring at him. His freckles were fading. Attachment was the link he’d never considered. They’d both assumed they were destined to hate each other and hate each other forever.

If he thought about it, he could remember what Hajime tasted like. He could bite him again, feed once more. Take and take until he really just was a pet, drunk on some trance-like love that would settle the second he partook for the second time. There would be nobody left in the world to Hajime except him. And God, he hated how tempting it was. 

He wouldn’t turn him. He wouldn’t make another meal of him. He cared about Hajime too much to dishonor him like that. 

Everything was ruined now. There would be no peace, only the fear that Hajime held close to his heart ever since he’d arrived. Sonia, Chiaki, whoever would see the bite mark on his neck and assume the worst, hear no defense from Hajime nor Nagito. They’d beg for Hajime to come back to them, and he would always,  _ always  _ have to keep him. 

Would Hajime understand that? That Nagito needed that time, so he could make sure he was able to keep himself and everyone else safe, so he wouldn’t have to be bound and chained and made an outcast for something that wasn’t his fault?

Everything really was ruined.

Nagito stayed as close to the edge of the bed as possible as he pulled the loose covers over him. They didn’t touch--a healthy amount of distance was kept between them.

“Sleep well, love. I’m sorry for what you’re going to have to wake up to.” 

He closed his eyes and drifted off, the sun invisible to them both.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i hope you enjoyed. i hope your day is the best it can be. 
> 
> i just want to talk to you guys for a second. i don't really say how much i appreciate you a lot, and i'm downright terrible at responding to comment. but i do read every one i get and more often than not, they bring a huge smile to my face. it truly means so much that so many of you have been so kind to me and this fic. i appreciate all of you so much! this fic is only two months old and it's absolutely blown up--that would never have happened without you all. i may be writing all this nonsense, but you guys are really the ones making it special. every piece of art or other fic that follows this work makes me feel incredibly humbled and appreciated by all of you. i guess i'm just in a gushy mood, but I really appreciate all of you so much and wanted to thank you for supporting me as I write this and helping motivate me to continue it. 
> 
> all the love in the world, fen <3


	30. jawbone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiiiiiiiii guys sorry i disappeared for a little while i had finals (don't worry i did well :D) and life has just been busy!!!! i'm also going back to work so updates still may be slower. but i'm doing my best to get these out quickly, don't worry! <3

Hajime’s jaw was sore when he woke up. His whole body felt sluggish, heavy under a comforter and sunk deep into an unfamiliar mattress. He didn’t want to open his eyes. Despite that, he cracked his eyes open to a little candlelight by his head. The windows were painted black behind closed curtains. 

Nagito’s room. He blinked and rolled over--to him sleeping beside Hajime. They weren’t touching; they were on opposite sides of the bed. He was asleep on his back, still and silent. The sun probably hadn’t set yet. And yet, despite that, the room was cold. Freezing, even. 

The firepit had gone dark. Only a few embers glowed in the hearth, too puny to give off any heat into the room. He huddled harder under the covers, still feeling more like a lead weight than a person. (It probably didn’t help that he was shirtless once more.) He could have gotten up to light the fire, but the promise of it being even colder out of the covers kept him firmly in the bed.

His eyes were still heavy. Before long, he’d be back in bed. He hadn’t yet noticed that he had no memory of the night before, his recollections sharply cutting off as soon as they had escaped into the passage hidden beneath the wardrobe. But at the moment, that didn’t matter. He didn’t know, but it was about noon outside, Sonia fitfully resting in wait for an ugly night for them all.

He didn’t know what was coming, and he didn’t care. His mind was blurry and his senses almost underwater. It was a natural instinct that felt as proper as breathing to roll over and directly into Nagito. It wasn’t as if he had much body heat to offer--none, actually. No blood flow meant no warmth. But somehow, it felt better when Hajime laid his head on his chest and threw an arm over his torso. The covers wrapped over them both, pressing them together. Exhausted bodies slotted together like cracked glass, feeling as if they were almost meant to fit together. 

“Sleep well,” he mumbled (unsure of who he was saying it to.), cuddling around Nagito and feeling if not warm, then safe. 

They slept in silence, chirps of birds and nervous murmurs outside not penetrating nor even reaching close to the windows. 

\--

Nagito rose when the sun dipped below the horizon. He was one to sit straight up, but there was a weight on his chest. Hajime had wrapped himself around him, bundling them both under a mess of a blanket big enough to wrap around them thrice over. Hajime was holding him, suspending him in a veritable cocoon of warmth.

He was guilty, then, for not wanting to get up. Certainly he felt bad, knowing that he would allow himself to enjoy this moment. It was undeserved. Hajime should have been able to get better than him. (Was it really only him who could help Hajime properly? Or had he just convinced them both of that, just to hold him close?) And yet, here they were. Perhaps he had woken up, or perhaps even in his sleep he’d moved over. He wasn’t sure which idea hurt more. 

“Love…” he mumbled, gently sitting up. Hajime grumbled indistinctly, not opening his eyes. “It’s time to get up. We have a big night tonight.” He clung to Nagito regardless, warmth encircling him in a manner so long forgotten it may very well have been a new experience for him. Nobody with warm blood had held him since he was a young, young child. Nearly three quarters of a century ago.

“Hrm...alright. Hello.” His voice was low and grouchy as he shook himself awake, his hair a spiky mess. “Why am I...in your bed?”

“I didn’t want you to be alone when you woke up again. Not like last time. I...I tried to keep my distance. It seems we may have moved together in our sleep--I apologize if that bothers you.”

Hajime’s hand shot up to his neck, free of the collar. He seemed to relax when his hand found skin instead of metal. After that he shook his head, some sort of relief in his eyes.

“You don’t have to worry. I kind of remember waking up and moving over to grab you.” He rubbed his eyes and yawned, his back cracking as he stretched. You’re going to tell me...everything that happened...once I feel awake.”

Nagito stilled. Hajime hadn’t yet moved from his position--they were close. Their legs brushed against each other and their shoulders would bounce off each other if one of them moved a bit too close. Maybe it was too soon to bring up what had happened yesterday, before the villagers had come. Did he even remember the kiss? Where did his memory cut off?

A small, growing pit of anxiety began to dance in his stomach. “Can you tell me the last thing you remember? So I know what you need to be filled in on.” Chiaki’s arm flashed in his mind’s eye, dripping with blood. There was none of it on Hajime’s hands--he hadn’t seen any on his claws, either. It must have gotten rubbed off when he was outside.

“Why do you sound unsure of yourself?” Hajime was definitely awake now, alertness springing to his eyes. “What happened? Once we went into that passage my memory cuts off.”

So he remembered the kiss. He remembered starting to run. That was it. He could lie. He could easily lie and say that nothing had happened and nobody was hurt. But then Sonia would come in, set the truth straight. No matter what happened, she would do her best to turn Hajime against him and her intentions would only be good. Why would she have any reason to believe that Nagito was working with them? That Hajime needed to be kept from them--even after they’d seen what he could become? They hadn’t understood. 

He couldn’t lie to Hajime. If he wanted Hajime to stay, he’d have to tell the truth. 

He sighed and took his hand. “Stay sitting down, alright?”

Hajime tensed up. “What went wrong, Nagito?” The blood drained from his face. “What happened?”

“We...we went to confront them. Scare them away. I had you on my lap. It was...tense.” He squeezed Hajime’s hand. He stared at his lap, his breath a little shaky and Nagito could  _ hear  _ his heartbeat picking up. “You turned, after not too long.”

“Did they take it well?”

“...they were...surprised. No pitchforks, though.””

He didn’t look very comforted. “But something happened. You’re not looking at me.”

Nagito sighed. “It could have been far worse. It could have been better.”

“What happened?” His hand fisted in the sheets. There was real, legitimate fear back in his expression when he cast a glance over to Nagito. “Did someone get hurt?”

His mouth felt dry. “...it wasn’t your fault, love.”

“Nagito. Tell me what happened. Tell me what I did.”

His hands were trembling, shaking in Nagito’s grip. Even his breath was uneven, his heartbeat going from fast to panicked. “Who did I hurt? You promised--”

“Chiaki got too close to you. I tried to pull you back, and the man in the dark coat tried to pull  _ her  _ away, but she broke loose. I believe she was under the impression that she could make you come back to yourself--you didn’t bite her, don’t worry,” he quickly assured, hoping desperately that it would calm him down. “You just scratched her arm. She’ll be just fine.”

“You promised I wouldn’t hurt anyone.” His tone was flat and colorless, stabbing Nagito in the gut. “You promised you’d keep me away from them.” 

“I did what I could. She ran for you. She isn’t going to be upset at you. I promise.” 

He withdrew his hand. “I’m sure you did.”

His organs felt like they were twisting into each other. He had failed. There was no way around that. But the disappointment still ached. 

“I am sorry...Hajime. I failed you.”

His shoulders slumped. “But you did try? I…damn it. I know Chiaki. It sounds right for her to not listen to any of you and try to talk to me.” His voice was still flat and disappointed. 

There was a long, ugly silence. The room had to be freezing for Hajime, but he said nothing. It felt tense when he spoke again.

“So what happened after that?”

“Well…they left. I had a talk with Ryota--he led them up here and went behind our backs. He’s with the others right now, assuming they haven’t killed him yet for somehow managing to betray both us and them. Sonia is coming back tonight, to bargain for you. I am hoping to let you speak with Ryota on your own, if you would like.”

He stood up. His eyes were shiny. “Where’s my shirt?”

“...shredded, love.” 

He sighed and sunk back into the mattress. “Do you want me to go with her?” His head was in his hands. Nagito carefully reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, his stomach seizing at the idea. No. He didn’t want Hajime to go anywhere. Not just because he’d be unsafe, but because he ached at the idea of him not being there anymore. 

Years of isolation, shattered by a single month with someone else. He was already addicted, craving that interaction. 

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“Are you going to let me?”

His heart cracked in two. “Yes. Should you choose to leave, I will not stop you--provided you come back when you’re close to turning once more. But if you stay, I can keep helping you learn. It will be...safer for you...and…” he sighed. “I don’t want you to leave. It’s selfish, surely, and I deserve no such kindness from you, but I would not like to be...well…” he chuckled mirthlessly. “I would prefer not to be left alone again.”

Hajime sighed. “I don’t want to leave you alone, either. You don’t deserve that.” 

“I do--”

“No.” He shook his head. “I’m not leaving you alone. I know we...had a lot of hurdles this month. I know we had a lot of hurdles last night, even if I can’t remember them. But I don’t feel safe just going home and leaving you behind. They won’t let me come back--not without a fight. They’ll try and keep me back.” 

“They assume I have you under an enchantment. It will be no easy task to convince them otherwise.”

They stood up together, Nagito handing him a clean shirt that looked like it would fit Hajime. He really needed to get him more clothes. “I hope you know by now that I’m stubborn. You’re not going to get rid of me  _ that  _ easily.”

He couldn’t help but smile a little bit, his fear relieved just a little. Hajime was scared, he was nervous and anxious. Neither of them wanted to face what was coming. Hajime hesitantly kissed him on the cheek, bright red when he drew back. 

“I...I don’t want to leave you. I guess it’s selfish of me, too. But…” he stared at a window he couldn’t see through, buttoning up a shirt. “...haven’t we earned the right to be selfish? We’ve gone through a ton of shit just to get this far. We’ve...given a lot up. No matter where I go, I have to leave something I care about behind.” 

Nagito froze. “You count me as something you care about?”

“Of course I do.” His gaze softened. His hands, warm and rough (always warm. They were always warm.), felt simple and comforting against his cheeks. “Of  _ course  _ I do.” There was an authenticity to it, a softness that was everything but physical. “How could I not?”

Nagito couldn’t help but stare at the bite on his neck. “I’ve kept you away from your loved ones. I’ve been unspeakably rude and treated you less well than I should have. I  _ bit  _ you.”

“And I tried to kill you. I think we’re even.” Hajime was shorter than Nagito, but he still held him close, moving his hands to wrap him in a hug. “I...I promise I want to stay with you. I’m just tired of being fought over. And if I go home, nobody is going to believe me about anything that happened between us.” 

Warm. Hajime was just  _ warm.  _ Nagito had almost forgotten what warmth felt like. He asked himself, for just a moment, if he’d even ever known what it was. 

“I will keep you at my side,” he mumbled, pressing a small kiss to Hajime’s forehead. It was still hesitant and quick, their eyes unsteady and yet settling on each other. “I will keep you safe. I will help you keep them safe. I promise I won’t fail you again.”

Hajime said nothing, just melted into their hug. “I just don’t want to be fought over.”

“The choice is yours, pet. I promise.” He still didn’t quite believe that Hajime was going to stay. Nobody stayed. Anyone who had come through had left quickly or had been eaten by Junko, their drained corpses thrown deep into the woods to decompose. Or people like those hunters came in--leaving a pile of ashes for Nagito to find.

“When is she coming?”

“Soon. Come, we should get ready.” Hajime kept their hands tightly together, following Nagito to the study. His eyes were trained on the floor, his face set. He looked worried, deep in thought. He’d been holding something back the whole time. 

“Alright.” He took a seat on the couch, staring almost wistfully at the violin.

They said nothing. Nagito unlatched the case and took the instrument out, checking the tuning quickly before he began to play, settling his bow across the strings.

\--

The door was unlocked when Sonia came up the steps. There was a knife hidden in her skirt and a stake in the leg of her boot. Sure, she would try and negotiate. But there was no way she was leaving without Hajime. If she had to play dirty, so be it. 

Sonia had sent him here. Sonia had sent him into the arms of a monster. And it had to be Sonia who would bring him back out. 

His study. That was where he’d wanted her to go, right? She straightened her spine and walked up the steps, the hearths lit for her. She no longer tripped over the stairs when she traveled up, instinctively knowing to turn left. 

There was music in the air. A violin. Something told her to follow it. (She played as well. Her great-grandfather had played for a long time, left his instruments behind. She’d grown up on them.)

The music led her to a door. She tested the knob, finding it unlocked as well. It would be polite to knock. She didn’t particularly care to be polite to him.

The door slammed open under her grip. The music stopped, Komaeda giving her a welcoming smile as the violin dropped from his shoulder. Her breath caught at Hajime whipping his head back to her, sitting on the couch. There was no collar around his neck. But she needed every advantage she could take. Nobody would see her weakness or fear. 

“We have some things to discuss, uncle.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!!! as always, i hope you enjoyed. like i said, i've been pretty busy and i'm dealing with a little bit of writer's block (and a ton of wips ^-^) but i'm doing my best!!! i hope your day is wonderful and that you get to see something that makes you happy. it's what you deserve, after all!
> 
> all the love, fen <3


	31. tripping feet.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a meeting between sonia, hajime, and nagito goes about as well as expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys! i am working a lot! i am very tired! just thought you'd like to know. <3 love all of you

Hajime was paralyzed. It felt like his legs were stuck to the couch, his eyes were glued to Sonia. She was a pillar of fury, her eyes blazing in the lamplight. He’d thought he’d seen her angry. But whatever he’d experienced paled to the murder in her expression now. Her knuckles were white with her hands balled into fists. She was shorter than them both but her presence dominated the room as she walked in and closed the door sternly. The air chilled as Nagito closed the violin case and sat beside Hajime, gesturing to an open chair across from them for her. 

Logic told him that she wasn’t angry at him. Logic told him that all her (in her eyes, justified) rage went straight towards Nagito. Hajime just happened to be sitting beside the object of anger. But he couldn’t help but start to shrink back under her gaze. Nagito grabbed his hand (his posture still perfect and his visage not so much as cracking), her eyes narrowing the second she noticed it. There was a flash of hurt in her expression when he took it. 

“I’d like to take this opportunity to formally welcome you to my home--”

“I am not interested in pleasantries.” She crossed her ankles primly, her demure posture betraying nothing she didn’t want to show. “We all know why I came here.”

Their eyes locked. She was reaching out, silently pleading with him to say something, anything. 

He swallowed hard and squeezed Nagito’s hand. “I’m not leaving, Sonia.” His voice didn’t feel as strong or steady as sure as he wanted it to be. “I’m in my right mind.” 

“Are you? Are you sure about that?” She leaned forward. Were her hands shaking? Was that a tremor in her voice? Did her breath catch when he leaned closer to Nagito? “...I am unsure if I can believe you, Hajime.”

“Nothing I can say will change your mind. So why won’t you let him speak for himself?” Nagito asked quietly, his voice carrying over the crackling of the fire. “I’ve never once held him under any sort of persuasion. I especially wouldn’t do it in this meeting, now would I?”

“No, I think you would.” 

They stared each other down. It was striking how similar they _actually_ looked, now that they were in the same room--if Nagito had more color in his face and hair, they could have been siblings. Family drama. It had never been something Hajime had ever been a part of. So it was spectacularly awkward now, sitting on the couch, barely able to get a word in as the barrage began. 

“We can’t do any negotiating when you won’t believe a word either of us say.” 

“We cannot negotiate when you have him under your _thumb_.” It almost felt as if he opened his mouth, his words wouldn’t even be heard. This was their fight and already he was just an accessory to it.

“That’s simply untrue. What you’re accusing me of is far beyond my abilities.” Nagito settled back into the couch, crossing one of his legs over the other. His hand left Hajime’s, looping around his shoulder instead. Was he trying to goad Sonia? “Even if I was capable of putting others under enchantment, I would never use that power on someone who didn’t consent to it.”

Her breath hitched before she continued their argument. “Then why did he listen to you last night? Without question?” 

Hajime wanted to shrink into himself and disappear. “I--”

“He lost to me in a fight the first time he turned. That forged some kind of loyalty, I believe. I can’t claim to know the exact details of why, but he--”

“And that “loyalty” has not carried over?” She raised a single eyebrow. 

“No!” Hajime and Nagito exclaimed in unison. He shook his head. “Sonia, I know what I’m doing. You just need to listen to me. You _saw_ what happened to me--i-it’s not safe for me to go home.”

Her expression softened. “We can help you too, Hajime. You have no need to stay away from us. Nobody is going to try and hurt you. It is going to be _alright_ . I sent you here. I came here to bring you _home.”_ She was so earnest in her words. The threads of emotion were bleeding through, and it _ached._

Hajime’s stomach dropped. His eyes burned as he screwed them shut. He would have leaned into Nagito. He wanted to. But he just buried his head in his hands, swallowing hard and desperately trying to hold back the tears. Once she left--the floodgates could open then. He’d find a place to be alone and just let it all out. 

“Please don’t make this any harder than it has to be,” he mumbled. “I made my choice. I’ll come back when I’m ready to come back. I promise. I’m just...not ready yet.”

“Hajime--”

“I’m _tired_ of being fought over. I’m not a toy.”

Nagito let go of him. Hajime nearly collapsed in on himself, looking up weakly from wet palms with shiny cheeks. His gaze dared between Sonia and Nagito, nearly identical expressions of shock striking them silent. No. _No._ Not like this--they couldn’t see him like this. Sonia had never seen him scared. He was her hunter--he _couldn’t_ be scared in front of her. Nagito had already seen him cry--twice, now. But it felt worse now, somehow. The softness and concern in the embrace he took Hajime into was almost humiliating. There was no shame in it--not from Nagito’s side, anyway. 

“Nobody’s going to make you anything you don’t want to do,” he mumbled, rubbing small circles into his back. “It’s your choice. I promise it’s your choice.” Hajime gripped onto him hard, shrinking under Sonia’s incredulous gaze. He couldn’t look at her. 

“Let go of him.” Her voice was measured, even. Quiet but not weak. “Hajime. It is going to be alright.”

“Just...just go, Sonia. I made my choice. I’ll come home when it’s time for me to come home. I promise.” 

She sighed and stood up. “I see, Hajime. This...is your choice, after all.”

He nodded, not feeling relieved. If anything, he felt even worse for turning her away. He broke from Nagito’s grip and stood up, wrapping her in a massive hug. She held onto him tightly. 

“I’m sorry for scaring all of you like that, Sonia. Tell Chiaki I’m sorry--”

“You can tell her yourself,” she whispered. 

He let go of her, something dissonant and clanging jangling about in his stomach. “What?”

Before he could even blink there was a knife in her hand, aimed straight for Nagito. 

_“NO--"_

A warm hand closed around his wrist like a vice. Nagito jumped out of the way--a second too _late._ Sonia buried the knife in the side of his stomach. Hajime could _hear_ the burning flesh, the smell reaching a too-sensitive nose far too quickly. 

_“Nagito--”_

Their eyes met for just a moment before Sonia began to run, tearing him along with her. He scrabbled at the hand around his wrist, desperately shoving her off and sprinting back to Nagito. 

“Oh--oh God, are you...Nagito, answer me--”

“...pull the knife out...please.” He was too calm. He was _too calm,_ and Hajime was _panicking,_ yanking the blade out too quickly and throwing it across the room. “I’ll be fine,” Nagito reassured, grabbing Hajime’s hand. “I promise. I’ve had worse.” 

“She _stabbed_ you--” 

Sonia grabbed him by his shirt and _yanked,_ pulling him away from Nagito with strength that almost felt superhuman. Her nails dug into his shoulder as she began to run once more, pushing him along with her. 

“Come _on._ That is an _order, Hajime.”_

He looked back, still trying to pull away. But she had a grip on him tight enough to bleed--she wasn’t letting him go. Nagito was getting smaller and smaller in his sight, stumbling his way into the hall, gripping his stomach. 

“I’ll come back for you, Hajime.” 

The words burst from his mouth before he could even think about them, his feet nearly tripping over themselves as he was forced out, led away by his friend, his _friend._ His friends were tearing them apart. His friends. There was nothing to convince them otherwise, nothing he could say that would change their minds. There was nothing to lose. 

“I love you.” 

Nagito collapsed to his knees, his eyes large and wild as Sonia pulled him away. If he looked at her, he could have seen her nearly trip when the words left his mouth. 

“I love you, too. I promise I’ll come for you.” He could barely hear him over their echoing feet running down the stairs. 

“Sonia, let _go_ of me--”

_“No, Hajime._ We need to take you home. We are going to take care of you--whatever spell he put you under, we can break it. I know it seems cruel, but I _swear_ this is only for you.” 

“Please,” he pleaded, pulling uselessly as she shoved the doors open and dragged them outside. “Please don’t make me go home. Sonia, _please--_ I’m not under any persuasions or spells, I know what I’m _doing--don’t make me leave--”_

She ignored him entirely. Her eyes were wet and her grip was as hard as iron. 

“I have him! We need to leave, _now_!”

The makeshift camp sped into action, already having been broken down. Horses were already halfway loaded and ready to run at a moment’s notice. The moon was almost as bright as the sun, staring down unforgivingly at him. Betraying him once more.

His mind was whirling. He felt sick to his stomach, his head was light. He was close to passing out, too busy trying to stay conscious to fight back when he was shoved on a horse and shoved between Nekomaru and Peko, people sure to keep him right there should he try and run again. There weren’t any hands on him anymore, but there might as well have been. The feeling of being penned in stayed strong over his head.

“Welcome home,” Peko said, and he barely heard her. It felt like there was a swarm of flies buzzing around his head, blocking out any sort of noise. People were crying, maybe. He was one of them, to be sure. People were crowding him, trying to talk to him as they raced through woods, down the mountainside. 

“Leave him be.” One voice cut through them all, soft and sweet. Chiaki rode up next to him, placing a hand attached to a bandaged arm on his face. “It’s alright, Hajime. We’re going home.”

He collapsed into her touch (warm. Her hands were so warm.), nearly falling off his horse in the process. “I’m so sorry, Chiaki. I’m so sorry.” 

She gave him a small smile, running her hand through his hair. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault. Nobody is upset at you.”

“I hurt you--I _hurt_ you--and I left him, I _left_ him and Sonia _stabbed him--”_

“Shh,” she said. “Hajime, it’s going to be alright. We’re going _home.”_

He was sandwiched between everyone. There was no way out. There was no way to get back without being stopped. Everyone was herding around him, and it surely was intentional. Sonia whispered to them all as she returned to the front, next to Gundham. Telling them to _keep him close, keep him in your line of sight. Make sure he can’t get away, he’ll try to run. We need to get him home._

Or at least, that’s what he assumed she was saying. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. He stared directly into the back of her head. He was still crying, maybe he was. He didn’t care if he was. Chiaki took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped his eyes, and he _flinched._

Concern, real concern, came into her face as she pulled it back. “It’s going to be alright. I promise it’s going to be alright.”

“Everyone keeps _saying that, “_ he snapped, gripping the reins in his hands so hard they might snap. “ _Everyone_ keeps saying that.”

She sighed, putting a hand on his shoulder. The same place where Sonia had dug her nails in to pull him away. _I love you._ And he’d meant it. As pathetic as it was, he’d _meant it._

_I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you._ It swirled around in his head, making him feel dizzy. Chiaki took his hand and squeezed it. 

“Come on. Let’s get you home so you can rest. It’s been a while since the cat got to sleep with you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i hope you enjoyed. you are loved and cherished. make sure you do something good for yourself today--share an orange with a friend, make sure you brush your teeth. i hope you know that you're adored. 
> 
> -fen <3


	32. slumping heads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's a quiet welcome home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! sorry i disappeared for a few weeks. to be frank, my mental health is very poor and working on this alongside a pretty demanding job leaves me exhausted. i'll try and be more consistent in the future though! thanks for being patient!! :)

Hajime didn’t say a word once they began to actually journey home. He wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t talk. People hugged him and he took it like a doll, staring ahead with dull eyes. Chiaki stayed next to him the entire time, keeping a worried hand on his shoulder when things went quiet. They didn’t stop to rest beyond a few short breaks. 

Everyone was exhausted, and yet they kept soldiering forward. There were only quiet, murmuring conversations buzzing around him, often concerning him but never involving him. It wasn’t as if he was talking anyway. 

Chiaki pulled away from him for a moment, letting him be. He wasn’t going to talk to her beyond what he’d already said. She’d done her best to speak to him, to make sure he was at least alright. It didn’t look like there was anything physically wrong with him, but mentally? He wasn’t there at all. 

She pulled her horse up to Sonia, who rode alone at the front of the line. The mayor looked lost in her own thoughts, her grip on the reins tight and her mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Sonia?”

She startled, gasping in surprise. “Chiaki! What can I do for you?” Her smile was sudden and forced, clearly faked for her benefit. 

“What did you do?” Her voice was direct and flat. “Something’s wrong with Hajime.”

Sonia had never looked smaller, seemingly shrinking into herself under her gaze. “He is still under whatever spell Komaeda placed him under. I had to pull him out. I...he fought.”

“He said you stabbed Komaeda.”

She stiffened. “I did what had to be done. I thought, perhaps, if he was injured the spell would weaken. That was not what happened. He may...resent me. But once the enchantment is broken, I am sure we can talk it out--”

Chiaki sighed and nodded. “I just want him to be okay.”

“That is all I want.” She shook her head and exhaled, her hair falling from her braid and into her face. “I do not think I am going to ever be able to forgive myself for sending him out there.”

“You were just asking him to do his job,” she said, leaning forward and giving her horse a pat on the head. “Don’t blame yourself for what happened. And...besides. He was bitten before you sent him out. If he had still been here, who knows what would have happened?”

Sonia wiped at her eyes, and Chiaki only then noticed that her eyes were wet. “I did what I could. If he hates me for bringing him home, then so be it.”

The lamps of the town shone softly in the distance. Another mile, and they’d be home. She spared a glance back--Hajime had nodded off, slumped forward, asleep in his saddle. Nekomaru held the reins for his horse, his cape draped over Hajime as a blanket. 

“I don’t think he’s going to hate you. But I don’t think he’s going to talk to you for a while. He won’t even talk to me.” The sun was low in the sky, late afternoon light settling over them all. “I know you did what you thought what was best, but...if he was telling the truth and if he really was acting in his right mind…” Chiaki grimaced. “I don’t know if he’s going to forgive us anytime soon.”

They looked at each other for a long while. There was a kind of nervous misery hidden in Sonia’s eyes, a fear that she’d made a massive mistake and hurt one of her friends hanging over her like a death shroud. There was a writhing, ugly guilt massed in Chiaki’s gut, stabbing her every time she looked back at him. 

She couldn’t even look at Ryota. He clung to the back, close to where Gundham kept his eyes on him. He’d brought them to Hajime, yes, but he’d been instrumental in keeping him hidden from them all. A traitor to both sides. They’d leave him in a cell for a while before he tried to explain himself, she was sure. Making sure Hajime was taken care of was more important than punishing someone who was so clearly already punishing himself.

The town was quiet when they walked in. People were inside, making their dinners and waiting anxiously for whatever public address Sonia would make upon her return. 

“Go home and rest, all of you. We convene at Chiaki’s home in the morning, like we agreed,” Sonia said quietly. “He is going to be alright.”

They all nodded without argument and went their separate ways, too exhausted and relieved to stay. “Gundham, dear. Take Ryota back to our home. I would like to speak with him later.”

Ryota paled, Gundham taking his reins and beginning to pull him along. “Are you--”

“I said I will speak to you _later_.” 

He gulped and was led away, leaving only Chiaki, Hajime, and Sonia in the deserted square. He was still asleep, the reins having been passed to Chiaki’s grip as Nekomaru left and went home. Shadows ran deep under everyone’s eyes. But none were deeper than Hajime’s, visible even when he was completely dead to the world around him. Even while he slept, the exhaustion was evident and draped over his body like a coat of lead. This was a rare kind of sleep, one he could stumble into for a day or longer. 

Sonia slung him over her shoulder, her seemingly uncharacteristic strength once more taking Chiaki by surprise. He didn’t even stir. She sighed and knocked on Mikan’s door, hoping she’d answer. There didn’t look like anything was physically wrong with him, but her stomach tightened regardless.

“Hello?” Mikan opened the door with a squeak, gasping when she saw them. “Oh my! I-is he…”

“He should be alright. Only exhausted and upset. I just would like for him to be checked over before we take him home,” Sonia explained, breathing heavily. She might just need some rest of her own.

Mikan nodded and gestured to the couch. “Lay him down there. I’ll have you step into the next room so he can have his privacy while I do a check, alright?” In an instant, the timidness seemed to be gone, replaced with the focus of a healer that only manifested while she worked. They both stepped into the side room, collapsing into the chairs that waited for them. 

Sonia pinched the bridge of her nose, looking like there was nowhere she’d rather be than in her bed. If they were left for too long, they’d probably fall asleep right then and there. After I take Hajime home. I can just sleep after I take Hajime home.

The cat was still being looked after. She’d get her tomorrow and bring her home. She’d ignore Chiaki completely and cling to Hajime like it was nobody’s business. And it would be okay, because that was normal. She needed normal. He needed normal, more than anything.

“Chiaki? S-Sonia? You need to come in h-here,” Mikan chirped nervously from the next room. They shared a nervous glance before jumping to their feet and rushing back into the next room. 

Mikan was white as a sheet. Hajime’s head was gathered in her lap, his breathing slow and steady as he remained sleeping. “What’s--” 

Then she saw where her hand was pointing. 

His neck. There were two small scabs on the side of his throat, slowly but surely closing up. 

Chiaki’s knees very nearly gave out. She grabbed onto the edge of the couch, her breath catching in her chest as she stared at them. Bite marks. He’d been bitten. 

He’d been bitten, and nobody had been there to help him. Her memories flashed in front of her, the desperation in his face in that first meeting under Komaeda’s roof. Komaeda’s own smugness, as if he was sure that he’d already won. Perhaps he already had. 

_You didn’t tell her, did you? About our little arrangement._

She didn’t remember seeing any marks on him, then, but they had to have originated about that time, right?

“No wonder Komaeda had a hold on him,” Sonia whispered in horror, her fingers extending towards the marks then suddenly pulling them back. “When...when did this happen? Can you tell?” 

Mikan sighed. “It looks about...t-two weeks old. I’m not sure.”

Sonia sighed and backed into another chair, sinking into it. “...is he hurt otherwise?” She hung her head, biting the tip of her thumb.

“His leg has an old nasty injury, but it’s healed. Same with his s-shoulder. They’re...they’re relatively recent. But he has heavy s-scarring.” She pushed up his pant leg, revealing a set of ropy scars. Chiaki’s nails dug crescents into her palms as she stared at them. “These are new, r-right, Chiaki?”

She was quiet for a long time. How had that happened? Was it Komaeda, or something else entirely?

“Yes.”

Mikan laid her head back, staring up at the ceiling. “He’s alright. T-take him home, let him rest. Keep him in bed for a day or two...just in c-case.”

Sonia stood up, looking thoroughly deflated. “Alright. Thank you, Mikan.”

“You two, get some rest as well.”

“I will do my best.” Sonia waved as best as she could with Hajime scooped up in her arms. (He would hate this, being lugged around by Sonia of all people.) “Good day.” 

They trudged back in silence, Chiaki opening the door and leading her to Hajime’s room. It didn’t feel quite real, him being dumped back onto his bed and his blankets covering him up. There was something so bittersweet about the relief of everything being brought back to normal, about seeing him so terribly, awfully tired and so deep in his own exhaustion that he didn’t even stir through over an hour of being carried and moved.

“I will...be heading home, now,” Sonia said, stepping away. “May I come by tomorrow, once he wakes up?” 

Chiaki sat down next to him, mindlessly ruffling his hair. “Yes. I don’t know if he’s going to want to talk to you, though.”

“Hopefully his mind will have cleared with rest.” She leaned against the doorframe, looking as if she was about to fall asleep standing up. “I really would hate to not...try and talk things out.”

“In the morning, Sonia. You will in the morning. Go home. Go to sleep.”

She nodded, her head drooping. Her eyes were full of something--regret? Maybe. “You, too. I did tell you we would get him back.” 

She nodded and yawned, Sonia closing the door behind her as she left. It took no time at all for Chiaki to collapse next to Hajime, laying down next to him and passing out almost instantly. 

Home. It felt like home again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i hope you enjoyed!!! you are loved. 
> 
> -fen <3


	33. human heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> both parties deliberate separation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! i actually have a playlist for this fic, lemme drop the link here just for fun.   
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/12o55cK03xQcLSb3sZQTSx?si=GWKd14s-Sw6Uq8v4XNDnRA

Komaeda hated how easy it was for him to sleep. Once he laid down, his body did all the work for him and sent him off. And so he slept until the sun dropped below the mountain, woke up with a burning pain in his side. He didn’t bleed. It if had been just a regular knife, the wound would have simply closed up as soon as Hajime pulled the knife out. But it hadn’t been a regular knife, and so now he burned, coated in a layer of sweat that could have been red or clear. 

He pulled himself out of bed, clutching his side and searching with absolute futility for someone who was no longer there. 

“Hajime,” he mumbled, red smearing under his eyes and rolling down his face, maybe tears of anger or regret or guilt or something else entirely.  _ “Hajime.”  _ When had he ever used his name, called him by something other than a pet name or a small cut? Once. Twice, maybe. 

“Hajime.” It was a curse on his tongue, and yet a delight to his shriveling heart. It was intoxicating to say his name, now that his absence was even stronger than his presence. “Hajime. Hajime.  _ Hajime.”  _ They’d taken him back home, ripping them apart from each other in a very physical sense. 

He cradled his head in his hands, jerking upwards when the stab wound told him to pay attention to something else entirely. He fumbled his way to their little makeshift infirmary, (their.  _ Their _ .) pulled out gauze and wrapped up his wound, a gift he deserved. Deserved it, because he took him away from his family and friends and he was  _ enraged  _ that they had come to take him back. Even angrier that they’d succeeded, pulled Hajime away despite him desperately begging to let him go. 

They were convinced Nagito held him under some sort of spell. Their absolute faith could sway even Hajime to their side, given enough time. Nagito knew he’d done nothing of the sort, he thought Hajime knew the same. Would they convince him otherwise? Would they pull them permanently apart? 

He needed a drink. He wiped his eyes and it made him feel weak that he was still crying, still upset. And he was hungry, too. Hungrier than he should be. 

_ I love you.  _

It had been like a burst from his chest, the light in his eyes bright and stark. Real. Utterly real. There wa sno spells there, no persuasion or fear forcing the words out of him. He had meant it, meant it,  _ meant it.  _ It swallowed Nagito whole, weighing him down like a yoke, decorating his neck like a collar they’d both worn.  _ I love you, I love you, I love you.  _ And he loved him, too. 

There hadn’t been enough time for love, right? A month. A month, where they were in constant close proximity for almost every hour of the day. A month where they were both baring their worst and best selves. A month where all they had was each other. Was it the worst month of their lives? Was it the best? Or simply the strangest, the most unconventional and tangled? Love, love, love. Nagito didn’t know what love  _ was.  _

_ I love you, too.  _

He would go back for Hajime. He would make the trek down, hide from the sun and bring him home (if he wanted it, only if he wanted it), but was this place home for him? It wasn’t fair to call it bringing Hajime home, when it was his cell. Cell. He’d  _ kept  _ him, penned in, no choice to stay or leave until the very end. And then he’d chosen to stay. He’d  _ chosen  _ to stay with him. 

They’d been separated regardless, but it was the thought that counted. That was what he told himself, leaning against the wall as he slowly made it over to the kitchen. Slowly, slowly, because this was a burning, supernatural pain. Slow to heal and painful to bear for the entire duration. 

His stomach felt laden with rocks and it had nothing to do with the knife his niece had used to gut him. Breakfast was ash in his mouth, a formality he didn’t have to observe now that Hajime was gone.

He sat at the table and stared at the empty place setting across from him. 

“I’m sorry.”

\--

The sun was warm on his skin when he woke up. He was nestled in a pillow and under a blanket, the mattress under him feeling comfortably molded to his body, like he’d been sleeping in it for years. He cracked his eyes open slowly, the golden light stinging his eyes. That was his window. That was Souda’s smithy across the street. He was under his own blanket. In his own bed. 

Home. He was home. 

Memories were creeping into his mind like ink leaking into water, ones he didn’t yet want to comprehend and acknowledge. There was an arm thrown over his chest that wasn’t his. He blinked slowly and rolled over, his breath catching when he saw Chiaki sleeping next to him. She was soundly asleep, still in her riding clothes and his cloak. She hadn’t even taken her shoes off--her feet stuck over the edge of the bed frame. 

He sat up, something huge and dark clouding his head and draping over him like a shroud. Home. He was home. They’d taken him home. He’d begged them to understand, to listen and let him stay and they’d pulled him away. 

_ I love you.  _ The final nail in the coffin. It had to have been. _ I love you, I love you, I love you.  _ And he’d been pulled away, shoved onto a horse and carted home. 

Chiaki mumbled something, stirring as she slowly woke up. He didn’t know if he wanted to talk to her or not. She’d come back for him. She’d come back for him twice and all she’d gotten out of it was getting hurt. He stared at her arm, at the scratches surely hiding under the bandages.

Nagito had promised nobody would get hurt. Hajime didn’t know who to blame. Himself? Nagito? Chiaki? None of them? All of them? Just one? It didn’t matter. It didn’t  _ matter.  _

Sonia had stabbed Nagito. Right in the stomach. Was he alright? He promised he was going to come back. Would he be able to? Would it even be possible for him to get  _ into the town?  _ Especially now that Ryota had--

Ryota. 

Ryota had led them all there. Ryota, even though he’d warned them that they were coming. He’d gone behind their backs and brought everyone up anyway. He’d played both sides, with seemingly no gain from either. A traitor who wasn’t loyal to anyone but himself, it seemed, and even then, he’d so perfectly self destructed that there was no telling where he was now. With Nagito? Here? 

If he was here, they needed to have a talk. And Hajime would rather do it now, while he was still sleepy, before he came fully to himself and whatever he was feeling grabbed him entirely. Anger? Guilt? Loss? Betrayal? Any rancid mix of the four. It wouldn’t matter, because the outcome was the same no matter how he felt. He had been torn apart from Nagito against his will, and everyone was convinced he was spellbound to him. 

Hajime was pretty damn sure he wouldn’t have gotten into that many fights with him if he was enchanted. He wouldn’t be just a little angry at him, too, for failing to keep that promise. He knew enchantments. His eyes would be blind to any fault in the person who held it over him. The devotion would be unconditional and eternal. 

Hajime felt lovesick, not chained to him. Collar or not. 

Chiakki’s eyes fluttered open, and she slowly sat up alongside him, rubbing her eyes and groaning something unintelligible under her breath. (Why did he feel so  _ guilty?)  _ She shook her head and turned to him, the sunlight dancing in her eyes and casting patterns across her face, interrupted only by his shadow. 

“...good morning, Chiaki.” If he could get anything more out, it would have been a miracle. 

Tears welled up in her eyes and she  _ tackled  _ him, crushing him in a rib-cracking hug. He returned it just as tightly, tucking his head into her shoulder and holding her tight.

“Good morning, Hajime.” 

It broke him in two. He let his own tears flow, crying into her shoulder as she cried into his. Home. This was home, wasn’t it? Why did he have to be dragged back to it? Why didn’t they  _ listen?  _ He would have come back. He was going to come when he was ready. When he felt safe around them again. Because right now all he felt like was a ticking clock, ready to strike disaster when the hand reached twelve. 

But for right now, he just wanted to hug his sister. Home. He was home, and he just had to deal with that, and trust that Nagito would come for him when the time was right. 

She pulled back reluctantly, both of their faces tearstained. She grinned in something like relief and it almost ached in his chest. It was hollow, rattling around in his lungs like the cough his mother could never shake when she was alive. At least, he thought that was her. It had been so long now that he could barely remember. He certainly didn’t remember their faces. Their names? Maybe, but only because they’d been told to him over and over, forged and reforged in his memory time and time again. 

He would not forget Nagito. He would not let everyone keep them apart. His stupid, perfect face wouldn’t start to fade because it would never have to. Nagito said he was coming for him. Nagito promised he was coming back for him. 

_ I love you.  _

It was something he’d never felt before. He’d never even interested himself in that kind of love, the thought of a family or a wife or anything had always been foregin to him. (Though it seemed he hadn’t fallen for a woman at all. Funny, how life liked to play its little tricks on him.) He’d had crushes, sure. On girls, on boys. None of them had stuck, because being a hunter was more important and being a hunter meant protecting the family you already had. He couldn’t bear the idea of leaving a spouse alone or children without a father. He knew what it was like to not have a father. He wouldn't do that to someone else. He couldn’t do that to someone else. 

But Nagito. A vampire. A  _ vampire,  _ and Hajime had fallen for him harder and faster than anyone he’d ever thought he loved like that before. He’d sworn off that kind of love. He’d sworn  _ off  _ that kind of love. And yet, it held him like a vice now. This wasn’t a spell. A spell would have been easier, because that was a relatively quick fix. Just a reversal and it was gone, he wouldn’t have to deal with this anymore. 

This would never be so quick and easy as just a spell. But was there any way to convince everyone else of that? That whatever he had with Nagito, whatever fostered deep in him and gnawed at him, was completely natural and surprising from both sides? Right now, all the answers pointed to no.

Chiaki stood up from the bed when the knock sounded on the door. Hajime shot her a questioning glance, still too lost in his own head to say much of anything, then shook his head. He didn’t want to see anyone. Chiaki was enough for now. Maybe she would understand. (Even though she’d seen the shift from vitriol to something opposite with her own eyes, even though it seemed logical that she would be the hardest to convince.) She knew him better than anyone else. If Hajime talked and told her everything, she’d understand. 

She was staring at his neck. Her grip on the doorknob was tight, almost white-knuckled. His breath caught in his throat. The bite. The  _ bite.  _ Of course they thought he was under a spell. Of course they thought he wasn’t thinking rationally. (But telling them the truth behind it didn’t seem such a good idea, either. That they’d fought and that was the end result. God, he was fucked.) 

“It’s probably Sonia. She wants to check on you.” 

He gripped the sheets harder and shook his head. No. She was the last one he wanted to see. He knew she was only doing what was best from her limited perspective, but she hadn’t even tried to listen to him. She’d  _ stabbed Nagito.  _ Tore him away. 

“Come on. Just five minutes, alright?”

“No,” he mumbled softly, laying back down and pulling the covers over him. Talking felt like a massive effort. He wouldn’t be able to look at her if she came in.

The knock sounded again. 

“Just five minutes. Then you can go back to sleep.” 

He curled into himself, feeling the injury in his leg starting to ache. Of course it would flare up when she came by. 

He shook his head one last time. Chiaki went to answer the door anyway. "I'll tell her to come back later." 

He only caught snatches of conversation, but it was clear Sonia wasn't going to take no for an answer.

After a few minutes of muffled arguing, two sets of feet shuffled into the room. “Hajime?”

Her voice made him want to shrivel into a husk and blow away on the wind.

“Hajime, I know you have to be awake. Can we talk? Please?”

He pulled the blanket over his head. Childish, maybe. But it got the point across well enough. 

“Hajime.” Her voice was stern as she pulled it off him, sitting down next to him. “I know you are upset with me. But can we please talk? Just for a moment?” 

“Go, Sonia.” Every word was a force of nature to push out. 

A hand settled on his shoulder. He flinched. 

“Hajime, I--”

“ _ Please _ .” He swallowed hard, feeling more tears prick at the ends of his eyes. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be anywhere near her, even though she was  _ only doing her job and trying to be a good friend to him. They had no idea that anything they were doing was wrong.  _

How did it all get this messed up?

She took a deep breath, perhaps trying to calm herself down. “Sit up, Hajime Hinata. You and I have things to discuss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i hope you enjoyed!! i know i always have fun working on this :) you are loved. make it the best day you can!!  
> -fen <3


	34. shinbone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sonia is second-guessing herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy birthday hajime im sorry i put you through so much in this fic i promise you're my favorite character also happy birthday to izuru too even though i couldnt find a way to work you in i still love you
> 
> happy new year to all of you, as well! may 2021 be kinder to us all.

He didn’t sit up. He was curled into himself next to her on the bed, looking like there was nothing he wanted more than for her to leave. She didn’t want to be here either. He had to be upset with her. No, it was clear that he was. It wasn’t as if she’d expected anything different, but it still stung that he wouldn’t even turn over.

“Hajime…” she retracted her hand, sighed and tried to smooth down her hair. There was a chasm of guilt cleaving her belly in two, doubt shrouding her every decision until she felt blind. It had to be an enchantment, right? If it wasn’t, she didn’t know what she was going to do. But it had to be. It  _ had  _ to be. 

It was practically common knowledge that Hajime had never even tried to enter himself into the world of love or courtship, nor did he have any interest in it. 

_ I don’t want to leave a wife or child behind. The thought that I could leave any of you behind is hard enough already.  _

In all effects, he’d sworn off that side of him for practical reasons. He was always practical. But the way he’d looked at Komaeda had scared her, because it felt  _ real _ . There really was something between them, and she’d torn him from it, desperately hoping that he could be saved from whatever ensnared him. 

“I just want to know what happened,” she sighed, lacing her fingers in her lap. “And I guess I would like to apologize, as well. I am sorry for removing you without your consent. I may believe I made the right decision, but that does not mean it did not hurt you.” But she wasn’t even sure she’d made the proper choice. She’d stabbed a relative and pulled him away while he fought against every step. 

If they were to break the spell they’d have to do it quickly. Before Komaeda came back and took him, likely to spirit him off somewhere new entirely. If Komaeda came--and she had no doubt that he would--they would have to be ready. Hajime would have to be ready and broken away from him, no matter what it took. What she’d seen that night left a sour taste in her mouth. Hajime, on his lap, not even trying to pull against a collar locked around his throat. 

Even if there was no enchantment, even if she was dead wrong, she’d never forgive Komaeda for that. 

Hajime didn’t acknowledge her. Didn’t so much as move. He was uncharacteristically silent, still enough to be still asleep. Chiaki had said he was awake. He’d pulled the covers over his head, flinched when she touched him. Asked her to go. She should leave him alone. She really, really should leave him alone. 

Chiaki and Sonia shared a glance. She shook her head.  _ Not right now,  _ she mouthed, crossing her arms.  _ Come back when he’s calmed down.  _

“I will return later, Hajime, when we have both had time to cool down. I...I am sorry. I promise that we will figure this out.”

He curled tighter into himself. “Go. Please, just go.”

Chiaki opened the door and walked out with her. “I think you should wait a few days. He’s really upset, Sonia. I haven’t seen him like this in...years.”

It was cold. Their breath frosted on the air, and even light breezes were ripping through their cloaks and chilling them to the bone. “I know. I cannot help but think I made the wrong choice.” Her eyes wandered to the forest touching the edges of their town. The dark path they all had to take, the rides into the woods. How did it all go wrong?

It was all her fault. She sent him up there. And she brought him back down. Every choice she made just felt like the  _ wrong one.  _ But, of course, there was no confirmation of right or wrong. There wasn’t a clean little check mark to tell her if she was doing the correct thing. Nobody was guiding her; she was on her own. This was a test with no score, only results she couldn’t predict and couldn’t change. She just had to live with them. (And so did everyone around her.)

She’d stabbed Komaeda.  _ Mistake.  _ Undoubtedly a mistake. She’d gone back on her word, attacked her host, and surely angered him. It had enabled her to get away with Hajime. But it had also  _ devastated  _ him, earned her his rage and simmering, grieving silence. 

Chiaki stopped and knocked on Ibuki’s door. “Ibuki? Are you awake? I just want to pick up my cat.”

There was a crashing sound. Then another. Then another. Sonia and Chiaki shared a worried glance. They grew more and more, growing gradually louder until the door slammed open and Ibuki herself fell in front of them. 

“Good morning, Ibuki,” Sonia said cordially, before her brows knitted together in concern. “What are you...wearing?”

She was wearing pants, at least, but she had on an underskirt--or what used to be an underskirt. It was torn to shreds and fell only to her knees, looking more like an old blanket tied around her waist than anything else. The shirt she was wearing was huge, far too big for her. It drowned her in cream linen, her hands covered as she lunged forward and hugged them both. 

“I was cold! Ibuki had to pull on what she found to answer the door…”

“Did you fall? We heard crashing noises.”

“A few times! But I’m just fine.” She grinned broadly, and it melted a little bit of Sonia’s mix of emotions in her stomach. “You’re here for the kitty!”

“Yes.” 

She nodded and bundled back inside, soon returning with a happy, complacent cat. It leapt into Chiaki’s arms, purring quietly. 

“Thank you, Ibuki. Go back to bed.”

“Of course! Ibuki will see you soon!”   
  


The door slammed shut, and there were a few more crashes before she made it back into her bedroom (they assumed.). 

“I’m going to...head back. He’ll want to see the cat. If he calms down, I’ll tell you. Just...don’t come by unannounced. Not right now.”

She nodded, rubbing her arm awkwardly. “I just feel like I did the wrong thing.”

Chiaki shrugged, petting the cat behind the ears. “We had to get him out of there. I don’t know what happened in two weeks for him to change so drastically, but I don’t trust it. Even if he isn’t under a spell, getting him away is probably for the best. I think he just needs time to let his thoughts get less jumbled.”

“You said, when you first saw him, that he…”

“Was  _ terrified _ , Sonia. And hurt. They hated each other, or, at least, Hajime hated him. I just don’t  _ know  _ if there’s any natural way for that to flip so suddenly. Of course I want it not to be a curse, and I want him to be okay, but I just…I don’t think he’s in his right mind.”

Sonia nodded, not feeling very soothed. If even Chiaki believed he needed to leave, it was probably for the best. But why did it keep haunting her? 

She was a Nevermind. This was no time to question herself so. One of her citizens needed her at her best, and all she was offering was fear and doubt. He deserved better.

“Does holding the cat...does that hurt your arm?” she asked quietly, staring at the scratches on her forearm. Hajime was a werewolf, now. Something had bitten him, and if Komaeda had told the truth, he’d hidden it from them all. (Or, perhaps, he simply didn’t know what had bitten him. After all, he said it was just a regular wolf. Even Hajime could make mistakes about monsters. It wasn’t as if he was one who worried about himself very often, either.) He could have torn the town to bits. He could have killed them all. 

But they  _ knew  _ that he could turn now. They could subdue him when the time came. Lock him somewhere until the sun rose. He could be dealt with. But to keep him safe, he’d have to be tied back. Locked somewhere away from everyone else. They would have to--

_ Leash him. _

Chiaki waved and went back on her way home. Sonia could barely keep on her feet, dizziness overtaking her. 

_ Mistake.  _

But she couldn’t let him just go back. She couldn’t abandon him to a monster’s whims and a love that was more than likely manufactured and forced upon him. He’d spent so long saving them from beasts of the night. 

Now it would be her turn to do the same. They’d rid him of Komaeda’s curse, deal with Komaeda when he eventually came to take Hajime, and then they’d work on reversing the werewolf curse. There had to be a way to undo it. There  _ had  _ to be. She would bring him back to normal, if it was the last thing she did. 

She would leave him be. She would leave him be until it was time to break the curse. 

But first, she had someone else she needed to speak to. 

She walked back to her house, carefully monitoring her breathing until she could see properly once more. After a drink of water, she steeled herself and unlocked the door to the guest room. Mitarai stared at her from the bed, wide awake and terrified. The marks under his eyes showed that he likely hadn’t slept since their journey. Depending on how this went, she might make him some tea to calm his nerves.

“Ryota. Come with me to my office, please.” 

-

Hajime had fallen back asleep once she left. Chiaki let the cat in and closed the door to leave them be.   
  
  


It watched him curiously, overjoyed when she realized that her owner was finally home. She leapt onto the bed and nuzzled him. (His scent had changed, but it was still _him.)_ He didn't stir, but that was okay. He'd pay attention to her when he woke up. She took her side of the pillow and curled up next to him, purring softly as she fell asleep next to him.   
  
  


Soft sunlight filtered into the room around them. The day went on as normal outside. Chiaki turned away everyone who came to visit. They all clamored for answers, but she firmly closed the door each time. 

And so Hajime rested, submerged in his own grief, next to a small orange cat. 

It was quiet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i hope you enjoyed! i hope your first day of the new year is kind to you and every day after. 
> 
> -fen <3


	35. leaden tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ryota, nagito, and hajime are all trapped in their own minds.

Ryota was absolutely paralyzed as he took his seat. His back was ramrod straight as he creaked down into the chair, the fire at his side feeling damning rather than warming him up. He’d take the cold any day, if it meant he’d be left alone. 

Sonia’s face was set as she took her seat across from him, folding her hands on top of her desk. She looked like a sculpture of herself. Cold, pale, pristine. Untouchable. The shadows ran deep under her eyes and stretched across her face, flickering and dancing as the firelight shifted. There was no mirth in it, no warmth in her eyes. There was no mercy to be found from her.

“How long did you know about this, Ryota?” she asked dangerously calmly. Her teeth looked just a little too white, flashing as she spoke. Every word radiated with barely restrained anger, covered in a thin veneer of diplomacy. If he spoke wrong even once, he was sure that veneer would come crashing down and he’d be thrown somewhere far less hospitable than a guest bedroom. He couldn’t expect grace or mercy or even someone to side with him. He’d lost all his allies in one fell swoop and he had only himself to blame. He let his panic get the best of him and everyone was worse off for it. 

So, really, there was no use in lying. 

“Since the beginning.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve known of Komaeda for a...really long time and I’ve been working for him since I was a kid. I didn’t say anything because I—“

“Because you  _ what?”  _ Her voice was maliciously sugary. “Please, feel free to tell me everything.” Her hair was usually immaculate. But ever since Hajime had been taken, it was messy and often fell into her face. She tucked a strand behind her ear, looking at him expectantly. 

“I trust him,” he said dejectedly. “He’s not someone who does things without a good reason. I don’t think he...did anything to Hinata. I really don’t.” 

She paused. “Ryota. There is a  _ bite mark  _ on his neck. He refuses to speak to any of us. Something is  _ wrong.” _

“D-didn’t you take him without his consent?” he asked timidly. “I think he has a right to be a little upset…” 

She pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling with her whole chest. “I know. I know. But...where did that love come from? What happened to him, to make him act like that?” 

“I don’t know.”

“And--why were you  _ hiding this  _ from us?” she pressed, slamming her hand on the desk. He couldn’t help but flinch, nearly jumping out of his skin in the process. “Why would you go behind our backs like this?”

“Komaeda has  _ never  _ done something without a good reason!” he protested, forcing down a load of fear that sat like stale bread in his stomach. “He…he...when I was young, I was ab--God, it doesn’t  _ matter--”  _ He slammed his head into his hands, grabbing at his hair. “I did what I thought was  _ right  _ and I messed  _ everything up!”  _

Sonia’s breath caught. She reached forward for a moment, then hesitantly retracted her hand. “I...know you meant well. I know you had good intentions--I am  _ sure  _ you did. But it does not change the fact that you lied to us all, helped Komaeda keep Haji--Hinata imprisoned. Likely against his will.”

Ryota just tugged at his sleeves. “I know it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have brought you up.” He shouldn’t have. 

“You would rather he have stayed up there? Trapped? Under an--”   
  


“He  _ isn’t  _ under a spell!” It came out weaker than Ryota would have liked. “I...I don’t know Hinata very well. But I know Komaeda. He would  _ never-- _ a-and I know he wouldn’t do  _ anything  _ like that to s-someone--”

“Are you sure of that?”   
  


“Are you sure he’s under a spell?” This was dangerous. This was  _ dangerous,  _ and his voice was cracking and he was close to tears, completely unable to look her in the eye. But he was fighting. He wasn't even sure quite who he was fighting for. Himself? Komaeda? Hinata? They all had to hate him. He was surely despised by everyone around him. So why keep up the fight? Why defend people who were just going to leave him in the dirt (which he deserved?)?

God, he just didn’t want to see anyone else get hurt. 

Sonia seemed a little bit paler than before. “I want to be sure. It seems the only logical conclusion, after all.” She was the one looking away now, staring at the fireplace. There wasn’t anything interesting about it, but neither of them could take looking anywhere else. “If not a curse, then some sort of manipulation. Either way, I cannot second-guess my decision to bring him back. He needs my strength. And  _ I  _ need to know everything you do.”

“A-about Hinata?”

“About Komaeda.” She seemed as if she wanted to collapse into her chair and fall asleep where she sat. (It seemed there were more common feelings between them than he initially thought.) “I want to know what to expect when he comes back for Hinata.”

“Don’t kill him,” he pleaded, trembling with his whole body. “He was only trying to protect all of you--if Hinata hadn’t been contained, he could have hurt someone--”

“Do I have any choice  _ but  _ to kill him, Ryota?”

-

Nagito strung his violin with a practiced ease. He didn’t even have to think about it, much less look at his hands as he did it. His mind was a dark cloud, swirling in windy circles. The melody swung around him, even the brightest and loveliest music feeling sour and dissonant. Wrong. There was nobody to hear it but him. 

He plucked at the strings, making sure they were properly strung and in tune. Perfect. (He couldn’t be anything less than perfect, when Junko wanted music. He was a quick learner.) 

Nagito pulled the bow across the strings, closed his eyes, and began to play.

At first, it was fine. This was normal, right? It was just like before; in fact, he’d only taken a small reprieve from the performances for none. It ached so much more bitterly when he’d lost his only audience member.

Nobody was listening. Nobody was listening to him at all. It was echoing through empty halls, curling into dusty corners and leaking out of the windows and drafts in the walls. The tune filled every place it could and more, filling the castle until it was bursting with sound. 

His mind was dark and full, too many thoughts crowding together and drowning each other out, so much so that he thought of absolutely nothing at all. Nothing, everything, nothing. He was so perfectly upset that he felt lost at a sea that he’d never seen. When he was younger, when his hope hadn’t been destroyed and he hadn’t quite been trained into submission the way Junko wanted, he’d always desperately hoped to see the ocean, hear the waves and see the sun glitter off the water. 

That clearly wasn’t going to happen anymore. 

He played to be heard, and there was nobody there to listen. 

-

Hajime stayed in bed, per Mikan’s request and his own exhaustion. The cat eventually woke him up, pawing lightly at his chest until his eyes fluttered open. He was greeted with a little lump of orange fur climbing directly onto him, meowing petulantly in his face.

“Hello, baby,” he mumbled, a small smile growing on his face. “I missed you.” He took the cat and slowly sat up, scooping her into his arms. They fell into a familiar routine as he scratched her behind the ears and she purred happily, content to be home with him. He stared out the window, drinking in the sunlight with his eyes for God knew how long.

People passed by. A few waved, and he couldn’t bring himself to wave back. A few knocks came on the door. They were loud and split his head in two, leaving them all unanswered. Chiaki had locked the door as she left, leaving him alone and with no visitors to let themselves in. 

Except for one.

Ibuki Mioda kicked in the door. The cat jumped onto his face, nesting terrified in his hair.

She grinned with all of her teeth, launching herself into his room with a squeal, crushing him in a hug. “HAJIME!”

He took it silently, his ribs crushing under her grip. To push her off felt just too far. She didn’t force him home--she was just there for the ride. But he couldn’t bring himself to hug her back--couldn’t bring himself to let anyone in. If he let someone in, he’d fall apart entirely. 

So he didn’t return the hug. It didn’t seem like she cared too much. She just looked happy to see him and it  _ hurt.  _ This wasn’t her fault and it was being taken out on her anyway. God, what a terrible friend he was being. And he felt like he could do absolutely nothing else. The words were gummy and thick, sticking and closing up his throat. He couldn’t speak. As soon as someone came in, it felt like there was thread stitching his mouth shut. 

And just like that, he was seven again, clutching at Chiaki’s mother’s skirts, drowning in his father’s shirt, coated in a sticky mess of blood. And he couldn’t talk.

_ “Hajime?” She looked down at him with a mix of kindness of concern. “Hajime, sweetheart, you have to tell me what happened. “We need to know, honey, please just tell me what you saw. You’re not in trouble, oh--are you listening?” She knelt down in front of him. His thumb was absently hooked in his mouth as he stared ahead blankly.  _

_ “Hajime. Hajime, love. You have to tell me what you saw.” _

_ He knew well what he saw. Or, at least, he did then. It was just a stain of darkness and a wet feeling in his hands, now. If he focused, a few things would start to sharpen and the darkness would begin to fade.  _

_ Not now.  _

_ NOT NOW.  _

_ A growl sounded from behind him. _

He curled his fingers into fists, focusing on the smell of Ibuki’s soap just to remind himself where he was. 

There was nothing behind him, except for a window and cat. He wasn’t seven, he was twenty-five. He was an adult, he wasn’t covered in his father’s blood. Ibuki was there, not Chiaki’s mother. He was alright. (No, he wasn’t.) But he still couldn’t find it in him to speak. 

It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t really his fault--no, it was. He should have been  _ past  _ this worthless, claustrophobic  _ silence.  _ He was trapped in his own mind, trapped by his friends and a bite mark on his neck. If he really tried, it was likely he’d be able to make it out on his own. 

And yet, he felt stuck. They’d chase him down. They’d kill Nagito. And then he’d be stuck for  _ real,  _ kept under lock and key and constant surveillance the second he tried to run or got caught. No running. No escaping. They’d made a huge deal about the collar but he’d never felt more leashed than when he was put on bedrest by a well-meaning Mikan. When Sonia sat beside him and asked him too many questions.

Ibuki’s arms fell away. She knelt in front of him, taking his hands in hers. “They’re saying you won’t talk. Tell Ibuki. Is it won’t talk, or can’t talk?”

He blinked, swallowing hard. His eyes burned, and a moment of understanding passed between them without a single word. 

She nodded, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand. “It’s going to be alright, I think. Hajime knows we love him, right?”

He nodded and it was almost painful. He could talk when it was just the cat. Why did he clam up so completely when others came into the room? What was  _ wrong?  _ Why couldn’t he just shove it down and control himself?

“It’s all good, Hajime! Ibuki doesn’t need you to talk! She’s here to give you some company. Alrighty?”

He nodded.

“Good. When’s the last time you had Ibuki’s home-cooked soup?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! sorry for another long break...i've been really tired. luckily, i'll be back on campus soon (!!!!) and i'll hopefully be able to have more time to write when I'm not working. as always, you are loved and i hope you enjoyed! make sure you take care of yourself. 
> 
> -fen <3


	36. larynx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> research is tiring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its 2:15 am when im uploading this just thought you should know

Gundham had a personal library on the arcane. It was their only real resource for any information on monsters and curses, aside from Hajime himself and his own, smaller collection. Obviously, one of those collections was barred from them at the moment. Ever since that day Sonia came to visit, Chiaki had yet to hear him speak again. She could have sworn that she heard a soft voice cooing at the cat when he was alone in the room. But whenever she or anyone else came close enough for him to notice he was there, he clammed up completely. 

She’d seen it in him before, on a smaller scale. (She first saw it all those years ago, when he had first come to live with her. A year went by and he hadn’t said a single word.) If he was upset enough, sometimes he found speech completely beyond him. He’d explained it to her, once. 

_ Physically, there’s nothing wrong and nothing stopping me. I can open my mouth and there’s nothing stopping the words from coming out. But...they feel stuck in my throat. Like they’re too heavy to push out. I just can’t do it, and I don’t know why, and I never know when it’s going to come back, when it leaves.  _

It could last anywhere from a few hours to close to a week. Nobody knew when he’d be able to speak again, least of all him. So Chiaki left him alone, let him rest and begin to recover his mind. 

She was sure she’d exhausted Gundham’s library when they were planning their rescue attempt. But she couldn’t keep herself away now. She had every book on werewolves pulled out, desperately looking for a cure or way to reverse his condition. There seemed to be no answers--only ways to put the beasts out of their misery. And yet, every method seemed more violent and brutal than the last. Her stomach curdled at the thought of using any of them on Hajime. 

On anyone, really.

This was his job? This is what he did for a living? This is what he had on his conscience to keep them all safe? Of course, she knew he killed monsters. That was what he’d done for eleven years and been training for since far before then. But it was always some removed concept to her, a bloodless ideal where he made it home safe and sound and with a new harrowing story. She didn’t ever really think about the ugly reality of it until she had to do the research that often fell to him.

“Tea?” Gundham poked his head in with a mug. “Or perhaps, some company and a pair of all-seeing eyes to aid you in your quest?”

She nodded gratefully, pulling out the chair next to her. “Tea and some help would be great. Thank you.” The room was comfortable, but another warm body next to her could make it feel cozier. All of the walls were lined with overstuffed shelves, books nearly bursting from their places and falling all over each other, torn pages and papers full of messy notes spilling from piles and stacks. While nobody but Gundham himself knew the specific organization of his library, there was some clear sense of love and care put into where everything was placed. It was small and cluttered, but everything had its place and its purpose. If anyone was going to have an answer or find something she missed, it was Gundham. 

He sat down beside her, putting a mug of hot tea in front of her. The steam curled into the air, carrying the smell of added spices. She’d have to be careful--if she didn’t stay focused, the tea could put her right to sleep. 

“Has your search proven fruitful thus far?”

She shook her head morosely. “It’s just ways to kill them. And when I looked into spells and things, it all was all too confusing for me to understand.”

He nodded, taking a book from her abandoned pile and cracking it open. “Many of these are not written with the intent for mortal understanding. Let me take over the searching of these texts.” 

“Gladly,” she said, shoving her dwindling pile of books about magic over to him. But then she would have to face the books of werewolves without a reprieve. Page after page of silver knives, decapitation, stakes, poisoning with mercury. Crosses. Holy things. They wouldn’t burn them the way it burnt vampires, but there was a natural repulsion to it. 

They worked together in rhythm, jotting down notes on a page that seemed far too empty for the hours she had already put in and the more that were ahead of them. There just wasn’t an answer showing itself. 

So she kept looking, and looking and looking. She read until the moon was high above them in the sky and her eyes burned, red and bloodshot. Her hands were covered in papercuts and ink splatters and she kept reading. 

A new book. Nothing. An old one she’d already checked. Nothing. 

The tea had long since gone cold. 

Nothing, nothing,  _ nothing.  _ She’d come full of hope, desperately yearning for an answer. There had to have been one, she reasoned. If anyone knew, it would have been Gundham and it would have been hidden here. 

And yet, there was absolutely nothing. 

Nothing at all. 

“Perhaps you should return to your domain and rest for a time, Chiaki.” Gundham retrieved her cloak from the chair and wrapped it around her, standing her up and beginning to walk her to the door. “Return when the sun is up. You will do yourself nor the hunter any good barely able to keep yourself tethered to this realm.”

“No...I still haven’t found the answers,” she protested, resisting the urge to yawn or rub at her eyes. “I’ll go home when I find something.”

“You have nothing to find when your eyes are struggling to open when you blink. Rest.” He said it kindly, his voice rumbling in her gut. He put a strong arm on her shoulder and ushered her outside. Without a word of complaint, he walked her home, stopping at her door. 

“May I cross the threshold? Or will the hunter tolerate nobody in your home?”

There was light shining from under the door. There was a loud female voice alongside it--Ibuki? Why was Ibuki here?

“You can come in,” she said, suddenly feeling far more awake. Concern bled into her voice as she stared at the broken lock. (Of all times for it to be broken, when a vampire had promised to come back and take Hajime away again.)

They walked in cautiously to a surprisingly reassuring scene. 

Hajime and Ibuki sat at the table, a pot of soup over the fire. He was eating with her as she happily chattered away, the cat curling between his feet. He flinched at Gundham’s presence, but raised a mute hand in greeting. There was a light in his eyes that dulled upon looking at him, his face going set. He wasn’t saying anything, but she didn’t expect him to. 

“Hello, hello!” Ibuki chirped, her chair scraping the ground as she stood up. She moved to hover protectively behind Hajime, putting a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t move away from her touch. 

“I must leave this place,” Gundham said hurriedly. “Take your rest, Chiaki. You as well, Hinata.” He shoved his way out, loudly closing the door behind him. Hajime wouldn’t meet her eyes. He grabbed at his sleeve and looked away, not stopping his spoon from falling entirely into the soup.

“Hello, Chiaki!” Ibuki said happily. And yet there was a note of protectiveness in her voice, her face. The way her body language radiated that she was guarding him kept her absolutely on her toes. “You look slee-ee-ee-eee-eeeeee-py. Maybe you should go to bed!”

“I’m getting there,” she mumbled. “How long have you been here?”

“Since this morning!” Hajime nodded slightly in agreement. He was slumped forward in his chair, visibly tired but less bone-deeply exhausted than before. “I’ve been keeping him company! I hope that’s okay…” 

“That’s alright.” She supposed. He didn’t seem upset--in fact, he seemed a bit more at ease than before. Maybe a little company that hadn’t come to bring him home had helped him adjust. “Did you just...show up?”

Hajime nodded. She could see the frustration building behind his eyes, a familiar look from when she knew he was upset. 

“You should probably go to bed, though…” she said, tapping her chin. “Ibuki should probably, too. Hajime definitely should go to bed. So Ibuki will go home!”

She pulled Hajime up into a hug, lifting him completely up off the ground as she embraced him tightly enough that Chiaki heard his back crack. And yet, he didn’t react.

Ibuki gave Chiaki her own hug on the way out. “Nighty-night! Get lots and lots of rest, okay? Ibuki loves you both!” 

Hajime waved. When the door closed behind her, they shared a glance. 

“We have to get that lock fixed tomorrow.” 

He shrugged, sitting down and fishing his spoon out of the soup. At least it was still warm--well, it looked warm. He dried it off and put it to the side, getting a clean bowl and scooping soup into it, offering it to her. 

_ Eat before you rest.  _ The words weren’t there, but the intent remained.

She took the soup, hoping she wouldn’t fall face-forward into it while she ate. She was barely hanging on, but this was the first meal they’d shared in a long time. This was the first time he’d gotten out of bed since he’d come home. 

She took her place, he took his. And they began to eat together. It was so painfully normal that it almost hurt her. It felt like a dream, but it wasn’t a good one. Maybe not necessarily a bad one, either. They were just sitting and eating. 

“So I looked around for a while today. I learned a lot, I guess, but nothing that actually helps us out. I’m going to go back tomorrow, look around some more. Gundham’s been helping--” His grip tightened on the spoon. “--sorry. I’m going to go back tomorrow. Are you okay being alone? Provided nobody else...breaks in.”

He paused, then nodded. Of course he was going to be fine if he was left on his own. It wasn’t like he wanted to be around any of them, anyway. She saw how he retracted into himself when anyone who was on that mission came near him, how he seemed to squint more at the sun and how his freckles had faded so much faster than they normally would. 

He was scared. And it hurt her, that she was part of it. But it was...it was going to be alright. They were going to figure it out. And he wouldn’t have to be scared anymore. Nobody would be in his mind  _ except for him.  _ Maybe he’d even be able to talk again. To hear his voice-- (it had been almost two weeks. After that first day, he’d gone silent entirely.)--to hear his voice again, it would be such a perfect gift. She wouldn’t ask for anything more than for him to feel safe enough that he could let his words out. 

“Did you make dinner?”

He shook his head. 

“Ah. Ibuki’s home cooking. I should have recognized it.” She was a surprisingly good cook--when she didn’t lose focus and burn everything she was trying to make. Or when she didn’t try to invent her own recipes. “None of it is burnt, though, so I guess you can’t  _ really  _ blame me.”

They sat and ate. It wasn’t awkward or anything; they’d had their fair share of silent meals. Sometimes nothing needed to be said, and that was alright.

“Let’s go to bed, alright?” She gathered up the dishes and yawned. “We’ve been up too late.” 

So they did the dishes, and went to bed. 

She left her door open, and his was closed.

She pulled up the covers over her. 

  
  


She could have sworn she heard a low voice through his closed door. 

“Goodnight, Chiaki.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i hope you enjoyed! please know that you are loved, and try to keep a healthier sleep schedule than me. 
> 
> -fen <3


	37. kidney

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hajime is terrible at cards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UH HI HELLO THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 21K READS?????? WHAT THE HELL THATS SO MANY PEOPLE!!!!! I APPREACIATE ALL OF YOU SO MUCH!!!!!! yes i am uploading this at one am yes my sleep schedule is awful also thank you so much aries_petal (on instagram and tumblr) for some really, really amazing fanart,,,,it's so good guys uh anyway have fun

Ibuki began to visit near-daily. Hajime still wasn’t able or really even willing to talk, but spending time with her was at least easier than before. They’d cook together and play cards while she happily filled the silence, talking about everything and anything and never once staring at the pale bite scar on his neck. (Sometimes, he caught Chiaki looking at it. Her scratches had healed to their own set of scars. Sometimes, Chiaki caught him looking at them.)

There hadn’t been a peep from Ryota since Hajime had come home. However, he knew he’d have to go through Sonia before they were able to see each other. Hajime would both have to wait for his speech to recover and for him to calm down enough to even consider facing her again.

Chiaki was out for the day, doing her ceaseless research with Gundham in his home. Hajime had even opened his own small cache to her, even if just to prove that what they were theorizing was just plainly wrong. Gundham had stopped by a few times, smelling a little bit like their home. Hajime did his best to be civil, but it was incredibly difficult not to just leave the room when he visited.

Chiaki was home today, luckily. She’d been gently persuaded into a break by everyone around her, Hajime included. The only downside was that now there was no chance of either him or Ibuki winning a round of much of anything. Ibuki shuffled the card deck, cutting the silence. She dealt seven to them all, setting the remainder in the middle of them all. 

“You’re first, Chiaki!”

She nodded and dropped a set of three tens on the table, drawing then discarding another card. Hajime drew and had nothing of his own to set down. (Not that it really would have made a difference. She was 100 points ahead of them both with no end in sight.) And then Ibuki played. It was quiet, but the sun was shining into the room and the house was warm. 

Of course, Chiaki destroyed them both, leaving them trailing and conquering the deck round after round after round. When they finally took a break to make lunch, it was unfathomable how many points she’d racked up. (So nothing about playing with her had changed, really.)

“I’ll make lunch today.” Chiaki turned around and began to light the fire, slicing up bread and pulling dried meat from a cabinet. Winter was truly beginning to set in now--plain old hunting would be out of the question for a few months. (It wasn’t as if he’d been home to hunt, anyway.) 

It was quiet. A little too quiet.

He took a pen and a piece of paper, scrawling something in his nearly illegible handwriting, pushing it to Ibuki.

Ibuki squinted at the chicken scratch, nodding. “Violin? Hajime wants to learn?”

He nodded. Something echoed in his chest.  _ When I go back, I can play for him. _

“Alrighty! Ibuki can definitely do that!” She bobbed her head up and down happily, promising to bring her instrument over the next time. 

“Learning something should be good...I think,” Chiaki said, setting down a meal of cheese melted on bread and warm pork. Plain, but filling and bound to warm them from the inside out. “You can take your mind off things for a while, before you can start hunting again.”

_ Hunting again.  _

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ Of all the things to slip his mind, he’d forgotten about starting to hunt again entirely. Would he be able to do that, now? Kill those who were technically his brethren? He’d done it for years--he’d dedicated his entire life to this one path. There was a lifetime’s worth of monster blood on his hands and was he really going to add more to it? 

_ Not all of them are like Nagito. Not all of them are good and kind. They kill. You know they kill. Remember what you lost.  _ But not all of them were unlike Nagito, either. They could even be like Hajime, scared and confused and not knowing what had happened to them. He just didn’t know. 

Monsters killed innocents. He would not abandon his duty to protect his town and keep these people safe. If there was blood on their hands, he couldn’t and wouldn’t hesitate, brethren or not. Protecting his friends came before his own conscience, every single time. (That’s why he wanted to stay up there, he would keep telling himself. It wasn’t just because he loved Nagito, it couldn’t just be love. It couldn’t just be about Hajime, it couldn't be so selfish. He had wanted to stay for them as much as he had wanted to stay for Nagito, for himself. Or so he told himself when he couldn’t sleep.)

There was a difference between Nagito and real monsters. There had to be. Real monsters killed without thought or remorse. Even a regular human could be a monster. But Nagito? Who baked his own bread and played his own violin? Who read out stories and washed his hair when Hajime could barely move his arms? That...that wasn’t a monster. 

The jury was still out on Hajime. He took another look at the scratches on Chiaki’s arm, the bruising that was still fading around them. (What if he had bitten her? What if he had accidentally damned her to the same fate because she got too close and Nagito’s grip wasn’t tight enough? It hadn’t happened. It hadn’t. But it was only one of many things keeping him up at night.) Everything kept him up at night. The moon was a sliver outside right now, but it felt like a slap in the face every time he looked at it.

Such an innocent thing, in theory. Another two weeks or so, and he’d be completely back at square one. He’d be a raging beast once more, forced into chains. He’d heard Gundham and Chiaki talking about it when they thought he was asleep.

_ “You know there is no other way to make sure the beast inside of him will stay contained. It is going to be alright. Once the morning sun touches him, he will be manageable once more.” _

_ “Do you really think it’s going to be alright? Are we really doing anything different than what Komaeda was doing to him? Keeping him locked up?” _

_ “Chiaki, what lives under his skin cannot be reasoned with. It is a beast of true caliber, unlike his proper self. The vampire was keeping him as a pet. We are simply going to keep him restrained to protect the others and himself.” _

So he was going to be locked up. That was how it was going to be. 

He suddenly didn’t want to finish his lunch. (He would eat anyway. The ravenous hunger tore at his stomach seemingly all hours of the day, but they had just enough to get by with two normal human stomachs and a few occasional guests. If he wasn’t brought back up to Nagito, this winter was going to be a hungry one.) The bites were reluctant, but CHiaki seemed visibly pleased that he was eating all his food. 

“Are you starting to feel better, Hajime?” 

He shrugged, putting the plate by the wash basin. 

Ibuki poked up from her own clean plate. “Or are you just hungry?”

He just walked into his room and closed the door, sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. Two weeks, and he still couldn’t even choke out a hello after that first day back. He’d forced himself to speak and it seemed it’d silenced him for twice as long. (At least. At  _ least.) _

He sighed and laid down for a nap. It wasn’t like there was much better to do. 

\--

It had taken two weeks for the wound to heal. The silver had burnt and charred his skin, and only now could he move without any pain. The stab had reduced to just a scar, hidden under a shirt, waistcoat, and long black overcoat. Nagito took the dark cloak, in case he’d have to hide from the sun. The thin sword gleamed at his side, sharpened to draw blood at even a slight touch. He didn’t intend to hurt anyone, but he also didn’t intend to let anyone stand in his way. 

Hajime would want to come back to him, wouldn’t he? He grimaced. He wouldn’t force Hajime back if he didn’t want to come. 

_ I love you. _

He stared at the ceiling when he laid down, thinking about his warmth on his lap and how sweet he’d tasted when they’d kissed, the metallic tang of blood on his tongue. He would bring Hajime back to him. Keep him safe. But only if he wanted to come back, only if he wanted to. 

The sun had only just set. 

Nagito rode a pale horse, more vibrant and full of life than most anything in the woods. How paradoxical, to carry such a rider. He looked like little more than a smear of black and cream on the horse’s back, riding quickly and silently down the mountain. For this to work, he needed to be quiet. Quick. And he would have to pray, pray, pray that Ryota’s map of the town had been accurate, given that it was about a year or two old now. 

He lived in the Nanami household, per his own information. Chiaki--Chiaki Nanami. The pink-haired girl, who’d been far too bold for her own good. She was protective of Hajime and for good reason. She and his niece would be the toughest contenders to deal with. He couldn’t hurt Chiaki. Absolutely he couldn’t. But he had confidence he’d be able to stop Sonia this time. He wouldn’t be hindered by his family any longer.

And so he raced down the mountainside, until he found a small, abandoned cabin, well-hidden and tucked away in the leaves and trees. The sun was close to rising--it was time to hide. This was a small hideout for him, just a place to rest while the day passed. Nobody came in, nobody came out. He slept and the horse rested. 

But as soon as the sun went down, he was back on the path, dismounting a quarter mile from the town. The lights glimmered in the night, his utter silence feeling like he was a void rather than filling space. He didn’t breathe. His heart had long since stopped beating. His shoes left no impression in the grass. Nobody would know he was there. In, and out. 

He was going to get in, and out. 

He was going to bring Hajime home. 

Nagito crept up to the house, his gut swirling with a fear long since forgotten. The house was dark--they had to have already gone to bed. But one room had a candle shining. 

He would have recognized that silhouette anywhere. 

Nagito hesitantly reached up and tapped on Hajime’s window. “Puppy?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i hope you enjoyed! you are loved and cherished.


	38. amygdala

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i go back to school on Saturday....pog

There was a tap at his window. It was a small thing, quiet enough that he could have chalked it up to his imagination. Or maybe it was just a bird, a wayward owl snapping its beak into his windowpane. 

The night was dark and clouds had rolled in, the stars and sliver of moon hidden behind them. Even the lamps had been extinguished for the night, curtains having been drawn by every house down the street. Even Chiaki had long since fallen asleep, nothing more than a softly snoring lump under a pile of blankets. Hajime should be in bed, too. But he laid awake at night, staring up at the ceiling for far too long. His candle had long since burned low, little more than a stump with a wick. He didn’t have the heart to blow it out yet.

There was another tap at the window. It was slow, deliberate. _Tap. Tap. Tap._

A pit of nervousness began to grow in his stomach. That wasn’t just an owl. _Tap. Tap. Tap._ A mumble sounded after it. Maybe it was a voice. Maybe, maybe. 

The nervousness grew into terror. This felt familiar. Why did it feel familiar?

And yet, with legs like lead, he pulled the blanket back and stepped out of bed. There was a knife in his hand, just in case. (Not silver. Not anymore. Even with a wood and leather grip, it still made him too nervous to hold those knives.) 

He would have said hello--asked “who goes there” or something...normal, like that. But even the idea of someone being in earshot sewed his lips shut. The cat looked at him inquisitively from the bed. He shrugged, swallowing his fear.

Hajime slowly, ever so slowly, approached the window. _Tap. Tap. Tap._ A dark silhouette stood outside his window. _This feels familiar. This feels too familiar. Why does this feel like it’s happened to me before?_ His stomach felt like it was knotted into a weaving pattern.

His palms were sweaty. 

He slowly, ever so slowly, opened the window. 

His breath caught in his throat, the knife dropped from his hand, clattering on the floor. His tongue was tied, his heart was racing. 

Nagito smiled gently up at him, waving in dark clothes and black gloves. “Hello, puppy. May I come in?” 

He nodded furiously, sticking out a hand for him to come in. Nagito. _Nagito._ He was here, he was _alive_ and he _wasn’t hurt._ His hand was freezing even through the silk gloves, but that was alright. That was completely alright--God, two weeks. Just two weeks, and he’d come back. 

As soon as he was inside, Hajime scrambled to close the window, draw the curtain, lock the door. The cat was stunned into immobility on the bed, staring in feline shock at the two of them. Hajime refused to let them be found out as soon as he’d come. 

“It seems cozy here,” he said, pushing back a piece of white hair that had fallen into his face. “You’re quiet, love. Is something wro--”

Hajime took his face in his hands and kissed him hard, shutting him up quickly and entirely. Nagito didn’t seem to mind, melting into the touch and returning the embrace. He tasted slightly of blood, but it didn’t matter. He was here, he was alright. There was no limp, no expression of pain. When his hands brushed against Nagito’s side, he didn’t flinch. He’d healed.

He broke off the kiss, pulling back and taking Hajime’s face in his hands. His expression was painfully tender, relief flooding into desaturated eyes. Even in candlelight he looked like he was made of watercolor, pale and slender. 

He opened his mouth and _pushed._ This was Nagito, this was _Nagito._ He’d seen the worst of him and somehow loved him just the same. Love, love, love. Hajime had promised himself he wouldn’t let himself fall in love. And yet, here he was, with the worst possible choice he could have made for a partner. 

“Hello, Nagito.” His voice was thick and raspy, rough from a few weeks of disuse. But the grin on his face was huge, undeniably gleeful. And yet, his stomach hadn’t unknotted. If anything, the fear was growing. “It--it’s not safe for you to be here--” he grabbed him and hugged him regardless, savoring laying his head against his chest, listening to a heart that didn’t beat. Cold. He was so cold, and still it was comforting.

“I came here for you, pet. I am going to be just fine,” he murmured, smoothing Hajime’s hair back and kissing his forehead. “If...only if you want to come back. I came to take you home.”

He nodded furiously, his eyes burning. He tucked his head into Nagito’s shoulder, drinking in any bit of closeness he could. He wanted to go back--he _desperately_ wanted to go back and learn and master control of his wolf, and stay, stay, stay with Nagito. And yet. And _yet_. 

“They’ll come for me again, Nagito. They’ll take me back and won’t let me out of their sight.” He clutched at his long jacket, holding on like he was about to be torn away again. “They keep telling me that you have a hold over me. That you have me in an enchantment.”

“You know that isn’t true,” he said warmly, running a thumb over his cheekbone. “You can trust your own mind, pet. I promise you can trust your own mind.”

“I know I can. It’s just--it’s scary, to think that everyone is telling me so many things and nobody is _listening_ to me, Nagito _\--”_ his voice cracked and he gave in, crying softly into his shoulder. “Nobody is listening to me and it doesn’t help that I can’t even _talk_ to them. Whenever someone comes in I just--it feels like my throat closes up, and my tongue won’t work right, and I just can’t get the words out--”

“It’s alright. It’s alright.” He rubbed circles into Hajime’s back, holding him close. “I understand. We can go home. I’ll do better this time, I promise. I won’t fail you again. I swear.”

“I forgive you,” he mumbled. “I forgive you.” (It was his fault, really, for not being able to control himself. For losing his humanity and turning on those around him. Why hold a grudge against Nagito for that?) “I forgive you.” He repeated it over and over, as many times as it was necessary and more.

“...thank you, love.” His voice was soft, withdrawn. As if he had to process the words. “Are you ready to go home? I promise you’ll be safe with me this time. I promise I won’t let them through.”

“I’ll come back to them when I’m ready. But I’m not going to leave you alone up there. I promise.” 

“You can leave whenever you want. I’m...I’m not going to keep you.”

“Really? I thought I was your pet.”

A devious grin stretched across his face, a finger tracing down his face to the side of his neck. “I didn’t know you missed the collar that much.”

Hajime flushed, losing the round of teasing when it had just barely begun. “Shut up.”

He chuckled. “That’s what I thought. Come on, puppy, let’s go.”

He headed for the door, until Hajime caught him by the wrist. “Window. Chiaki sleeps with the door open--”

Chiaki. Chiaki would wake up and he’d be gone again. Without a word. Without a sound, he’d disappear. Stolen away in the night. 

He grabbed a piece of paper and uncorked an inkwell, guilt tearing through him. “I--I’m almost ready. Just let me leave a note for her.”

“Is that wise?” Nagito peered over his shoulder, placing a gentle hand on him. 

“I’m not just leaving her without a goodbye.” He wrote quickly and messily, leaving the note on the nightstand. “A-alright. We can go now.” 

_I’m coming back, Chiaki. I promise. Don’t come looking for me. I love you._

_-Hajime_

The window flung open. Nagito stepped out, looking like a shadow among shadows. He extended his hand once more, his smile the only visible thing about him. His fangs glistened in the candlelight, an invitation he never should have taken. And yet, it’d swallowed him whole and he couldn’t quite find it in himself to regret it, despite all it had brought. 

They stepped out into the cold night, a gust of wind blowing out the candle. 

(Somewhere across the house, Chiaki was stirring from the drafts. Her eyes slowly fell open.) 

Hajime stared at the house next door. His old house. His old _home._ Nagito caught his gaze and took him by the hand, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“This is...this was my house.”

“Is this where--”

“My parents? Yes.” His stomach hollowed out. 

“Do you want to go in before we leave?” 

“...sure.” 

The door creaked when it opened. 

Nagito lit a match and stared around, looking at the empty room. All the furniture had long been removed. The floor was covered in dust, their feet leaving prints as they moved. Hajime only felt smaller and smaller. Like if he turned around, something with fangs far larger than Nagito’s would be there waiting. 

There were bloodstains on the floor. They were ancient, rusty and set into the floorboards. 

Hajime broke out into a cold sweat, the hair on the back of his neck raising. 

He wasn’t a child. He  _ wasn’t  _ a child. His parents were buried outside in their family plot. They weren’t in their bed, gutted and their intestines chewed and half-eaten. They’d barely been able to identify them enough to bury them. They were dead, they were  _ long  _ dead and Hajime  _ had let the thing through the door-- _

“Let’s go,” Nagito said seriously, gently taking him by the shoulders and starting to lead him away. “Don’t overexert yourself. Don’t push yourself so far.”

He nodded. “I haven’t come in here in--in years. I just feel like...I needed to remind myself of a few things.”

“It’s alright, love.” They walked out, the door closed behind them. “I’m proud of you for facing your fears. But we should go quickly--there’s a safe house about halfway up. We can rest there for the day and then finish the trek home.” Nagito ushered him to a pale horse, pulling him up alongside him. “Let’s go.”

He went to take the reins, then stopped dead in his tracks. 

There were shadows moving behind them. A torch was lit. Footsteps sounded around them, Nagito wrapping his hands around him and pulling him close. “It’s going to be alright.”

The same sentiment that everyone else had given him. Nagito drew the sword at his side. 

“I’ll protect you.” 

Hajime froze, his mouth sewing itself shut once more. He was unarmed. Defenseless. His voice--his  _ voice  _ had gotten stuck in his throat once more. All he could do was nod.

Sonia stepped into the square, a torch in her hand and rage in her eyes. 

“Get your hands  _ off  _ of him.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello!! as always, i hope you enjoyed!! you are loved! 
> 
> -fen <3


	39. voice, voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> leaving town just got a little more difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im developing an addiction to the white monsters they taste like supercharged sprite

Nagito’s thin sword glimmered in the torchlight. Other people shuffled around them (either to see what was going on, or they had been accompanying Sonia), hemming them into a circle. Gundham was behind them, Peko and Fuyuhiko on either side. They bore torches of their own, rage showing in their eyes. 

“I sensed your presence when you arrived,” Gundham spat, his lip curling in disgust. “It’s quite fortunate we caught you when we did, beast. Do not think you can just slip in and out as you please.” 

Hajime had goosebumps that had nothing to do with the weather. This was worse than before, this was  _ so much worse  _ than the throne room that he had no memory of. He would remember this. This would be burned into his mind for the rest of his life. He didn’t remember the pain in their eyes last time. They weren’t as prepared this time, either. They were still in their pajamas, their knives mismatched to the clothes they wore. It was clear they’d all stumbled out of bed at Gundham’s call.

“I’m glad to know I have such vigilant citizens in my town. Perhaps I didn’t need to worry so,” Nagito cooed, smiling lazily at Gundham. He twirled his sword, pointing it languidly at him. He simmered but fell silent.

Hajime’s front door creaked open.

Chiaki wandered outside, visibly sleepy but jolting to alertness when she saw what was going on. He felt dizzy, lightheaded. He slumped against Nagito, breathing heavily and doing his best to keep conscious. 

“...Hajime?” Her voice wavered, carrying in the cold air. She rubbed at her eyes with her sleeve, slowly waking up. “Please say this is just a bad dream.” She looked around, rubbing her arms for warmth. No dream would be this frigid. Their breath crystallized in front of them, the clouds only absent in front of Nagito’s mouth. “Please say this is just a bad dream.”

Nagito held Hajime close, pulling his back to his chest, turning back to Sonia. “I don’t want to hurt you, niece. Let us go in peace.” Hajime shook in the grip, viciously fighting to get a single word out and keep his wits about him. There was no way this would end well unless he spoke and  _ convinced  _ them that he knew what he was doing. 

And yet, he stayed quiet. Like something had pressed a hand over his mouth--maybe not a hand. He was struggling, and all he got was silence.

“Why the  _ hell  _ would I let you get anywhere  _ near  _ him?” Sonia snarled, pulling a silver knife from her belt. “I refuse to let you take him. I  _ know  _ you have his mind in your hands. I will  _ not  _ allow you to do with him as you please  _ any longer! _ ” Her voice had graduated to shouting by the end of the sentence.

Every word she hurled ached and burned in his chest, his hand reaching and grabbing Nagito’s. He seemed to notice that Hajime had clammed up, squeezing his hand in reassurance. 

“It’s alright, love,” he mumbled in his ear. “I’m going to protect us.” (He always said that. He  _ always  _ said that. All he could do was trust that Nagito would make good on his promise.)

“I am not going to ask you again. Let  _ go  _ of him.” Sonia had her hair braided back. It was different from her usual braid, messy and done just to keep her hair out of her way while she slept. But wisps had begun to fall out, falling into her eyes. She viciously swiped them away, looking like she was about to take the torch and hurl it at Nagito’s head. 

“Why don’t you ask him where  _ he  _ wants to go?” he shot back, pointing the tip of his sword at her. “Have any of you even tried to listen to him?” Hajime balled his fists, feeling the spit well up in his mouth.

“If he would speak, I would happily listen.” 

“Sonia, he  _ can’t-- _ ” Chiaki cut in, before she raised a single hand to silence her. She shook her head at Sonia, her hands wringing together. “...you know he can’t speak. You can’t force that out of him. You...you need to be fair.” She looked upset that she was technically defending Nagito--but she was right. She stood outside the circle, behind everyone. Worry was set deep in her face--not anger, not fear. True, legitimate concern. 

Nagito looked down at him, concerned. Hajime shook his head, hoping that he’d understand that an explanation would come later. (Provided they got out of this. Provided they were able to get alone together. They would have to get out and get out soon. Escape was looking less and less likely by the second.) 

Sonia’s grip tightened on her torch. Hajime swore he could hear her heartbeat speed up. “I have known you my whole life, Hajime. I know you--I know this is unlike you. I--please. I am  _ only  _ trying to help you.” She gripped at her knife, readjusting her hold as if she was about to drop it. “I want nothing more than for you to be safe. He--Komaeda--is not safe for you to be with.”

Hajime felt like he was going to pass out. He opened his mouth, and  _ nothing came out.  _ He let go of Nagito and grabbed his hair, leaning forward and forcing himself to  _ breathe, breathe, breathe.  _ He had to talk. He  _ had  _ to get  _ over  _ this leftover coping mechanism from his childhood or it would all be over. They’d never let him out of their sight. There would be well-intentioned words in his ears and kind hands circling his wrists, fingertips pressing hard enough to leave bruises. Keeping him pinned, right where they wanted him. Trapped, under the pretense of his protection.

“Hajime, get down from there,” Peko called out, her voice causing him to flinch. “We’re here to help you.” The horse pawed at the ground, restless. Nervous.

Nagito’s grip tightened on the reins. “Do you  _ not  _ trust him to have made his own choice? You all seem to be aware that he’s having trouble speaking. Are you trying to take advantage of that?” His voice had gone dangerously even.

“And why do you get to speak for him?” The circle was getting closer, closing in on them. “Why do you get the final say about what’s going on? You’re the one who  _ made  _ him like this.”

It was like he was a child again. The adults, towering over him, were arguing about him. Where he should go, now that his parents were gone. ( _ Should we tell him that we didn’t catch it? No. Not until he’s much, much older.)  _ And he couldn’t say what he wanted, because he couldn’t bring himself to talk. It was building up, and up, and up. There were knives and swords drawn, they were all arguing. Fighting. And it was his fault. It was  _ his fault,  _ for letting that wolf get too close before he shot at it. When he dreamt at night, he swore he could feel the teeth sinking into his shoulder for the first time, forever destroying unblemished skin.

There were too many words slung all around him, voices raising and the fire stinging his eyes. It was too loud. It was  _ too loud.  _

“He’s an adult--”   
  


“And you can  _ tell  _ he is not in his right mind!”

“Who are all of you to speak for him?” Nagito said, holding him close, and Hajime was processing all of it and yet none of it  _ too quickly.  _

“And who are  _ you  _ to act as if you are not the one who  _ did this to him!?” _

He covered his ears and leaned forward, his eyes burning and his stomach twisting. 

This was too much. This was  _ too much.  _ If the shouting didn’t stop he was going to lose his  _ mind. _

And like a flood bursting through a dam, it spilled out of him. 

_ “STOP!” _

Everyone fell silent, staring at him in a mix of fear and guilt and worry. 

“Everyone--everyone needs to just  _ stop,”  _ he choked out, tears beginning to roll down his face that he had no intention of wiping away. “None of you are  _ listening  _ to me--none of you  _ listened  _ when I told you that I was  _ fine!”  _ His voice was rough and raspy and cracking, and yet everyone stood in rapt, ashamed attention. 

He forced himself to look up and lock eyes with Sonia. “I’m  _ not  _ under any curse. I’m  _ not  _ under any enchantments or spells. You’re right, you  _ have  _ known me your whole life. A-and you should  _ know  _ that I wouldn’t want to stay with Nagito without good reason. I told you that I wanted to stay, that me staying with him was safer for  _ everyone,  _ and then you  _ stabbed him.  _ You  _ stabbed him  _ and pulled me out of there when I was telling you that  _ I didn’t want to leave.” _

“Hajime--” There was a flash of hurt in her eyes. She sighed and lowered her knife. She straightened her posture and met his eyes. “Hajime. Please get down from there. I do not want to have to force you again.”

“Nagito, get ready to run,” he mumbled. He nodded, adjusting them both. 

“There’s no way to show you that I’m telling the truth, is there? Why would I even want to try, when you just pulled me out of there anyway? Do you--do you think I’m a  _ child _ ? That I can’t make my own choices?”

She paled. “Please. Hajime,  _ please  _ come down. We can talk about this.”

“You aren’t  _ listening  _ to me--none of you have been listening to me at all--”

Chiaki shoved past them all, elbowing her way to the front of the horse. Her eyes blazed, her arms spread to keep them from going anywhere. “Hajime. You  _ need  _ to tell me what happened. I’ll  _ consider  _ letting you go with him if you tell me how this all happened.”

“That is not your  _ choice,  _ Chiaki,” Sonia said angrily. “He is  _ not going anywhere--” _

She walked to the side--grabbing both Hajime and Nagito by the wrists. “Inside. Now. Sonia, you too. Something is missing here, and I am going to figure out what it is.”

“You’re a bold one, Miss Chiaki,” Nagito said coolly. “Are you inviting me into your home? Am I going to walk out of it?”

“We’re going to  _ talk this out.  _ There’s something you’re hiding--there’s something  _ Hajime’s  _ hiding. And we’re going to figure all this out. _ ”  _

Hajime hesitated. Nobody looked like they wanted to talk. There were still blades in everyone’s hands, even if they were lowered. Chiaki meant well, but she would be an even tougher sell than Sonia. She’d  _ seen  _ them fighting. She’d watched them fight--she’d seen the worst of them. How would she believe that after a  _ bite _ , he’d change and it wouldn’t have been an enchantment? 

He loved Chiaki. He really did. And he wanted to believe that she had the best in mind. But he didn’t trust Sonia. This felt like a trap. There was no way the mayor would let him out. 

  
  


“Ready, pet?” Nagito whispered.

He nodded just slightly. 

Hajime and Chiaki’s eyes met. He was still crying, the tears freezing on his face.

“I’m sorry.”

Confusion and fear filled her face. “ _ Wait--” _

“Time to go.”

The horse reared, neighing loudly enough to echo through the whole town. Whoever was in in the front jumped out of the way in a panic as they bolted.

The wind blasted their faces as they fled, Hajime hearing what everyone else was saying all too clearly. 

_ “Do NOT let him get away with Hajime! Get me my horse!” _

“I’m sorry, Sonia,” he muttered. “I’m sorry, Chiaki.” 

“We’ll hide at the safe house for a few days. Not even Ryota knows where it is. We’ll be safe. I promise.” 

He wasn’t so sure. 

“Was this the right choice, Nagito?”

He sighed, leaned forward, and pressed a small kiss to his cheek. “I don’t know, pet. I don’t know.”

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i hope you enjoyed! please make sure you know that you're loved and cherished by those you hold close. remember to take care of yourself!
> 
> -fen <3


	40. capillary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's a cold night to be out looking for your friends. it's a cold night to stay inside with your lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiii guys im back at school so depending on my workload uploads might keep speeding up! okok ok kiddos i love all of you so much now enjoy

Chiaki felt like the world was pivoting upside down. It took all she had just to stay on her feet as everyone scrambled to action around her. Sonia desperately mounted her horse, Gundham and Ibuki following closely behind her. The wind cut through her nightgown, forcing the sleep from her body and shaking her more and more awake. This was just a nightmare. This  _ had  _ to just be a nightmare. She was dizzy, almost queasy--swaying on her feet.

But it wasn’t. Nightmares didn’t stick so viscerally--a nightmare wouldn’t remind her of the bruises on her arms or the splinter she’d got in her finger opening the door. A nightmare wouldn’t be quite  _ this  _ detailed; there was hair in her mouth and eyes that she had to swipe away.

“Come on! We must go before we lose them! If he gets Hajime up into his castle again…” Sonia trailed off. “I doubt we will be able to pull him away from the vampire a second time.” Her grip tightened on the reins. 

Hajime had been pulled against Komaeda, seemingly frozen into place. And yet he’d left. Gone again, ripped from them like a scab over a wound that had barely stopped bleeding. 

_ I’m sorry, Chiaki.  _ His tears had frozen to his face, and he hadn’t even tried to wipe them away.

“Are you to come, Chiaki?” Gundham asked quickly, extending a hand. “We have no time to waste.” She was underdressed--just her nightgown and a robe. Her hands were already numb and her feet cold in the shoes that were too big for her. She was completely unprepared to go absolutely anywhere. If they made it into the woods, she’d be frozen to the bone before long.

That didn’t matter. Hajime was out there in his nightclothes and a cloak. He had to have been forced awake, tricked into letting him inside. But--no. There would be no trickery needed when Komaeda had his mind, like Sonia had kept asserting. 

Like  _ Sonia  _ kept asserting. Sonia, Sonia, Sonia. Sonia, who hadn’t come to the castle except to rescue him, who had taken Chiaki for her word. Sonia, who had seen the same show as the rest of them. (But did she see the fear in his eyes? The way he turned away from them?) She’d wanted to believe Sonia. 

But she wasn’t so sure anymore. It was the easier option to accept. But did it really make things easier? She’d seen him upset, heartbroken. But the utter misery in his eyes had felt new, different. He’d  _ seemed  _ like himself. Just upset--devastated to the point of silence.

Devastated to the point of screaming. His voice had  _ broken  _ in front of them, the emotion pouring out cracked and raw. That was no spell. Or, if it was, it was the most powerful kind of magic she’d ever imagined--to enchant him so thoroughly that he’d act just as he normally would. It was possible, but at what level? 

_ Something is  _ **_wrong_ ** _ with me, Chiaki.  _

Chiaki was going to find out the truth. Even if it took being civil to Komaeda. Whether Sonia liked it or not, they just  _ didn’t  _ have the full story. Something was missing. Hajime and Komaeda were hiding something--she wasn’t quite sure what, but something just  _ wasn’t  _ adding up. Hajime wasn’t in his right mind. There was no way that he was. But she was no longer so sure that it was plain magic. She was no longer sure that Komaeda only had malice in his mind. 

All she wanted was for Hajime to be safe. All she wanted was the truth.

She took his hand. “Yes.” 

He nodded firmly and pulled her up, unhooking his cloak and wrapping it around her. “Let us go save our friend.” He was barely more dressed than she was, but at least he had grabbed a jacket and gloves and proper shoes. She fastened the cloak around her and held on for dear life. They all sped away, kicking up clouds of dust in their wake. It felt like they’d already lost too much time. But at least they knew their final destination. 

“Wait!” Sonia called suddenly, slamming to a stop. Her eyes glinted, steely in their torchlight. “Someone get me Ryota. Get him on a horse.  _ He  _ will be accompanying us.”

“We don’t have much time--” Chiaki started, before she was cut off. 

“There is a chance Komaeda will try to trick us. I want someone who knows him to accompany us.” She looked back, her expression softening. “I will not let us lose him again. I promise.”

Fuyuhiko sprinted away to Sonia’s house, more than willing to shake him awake and shove him on the back of a horse. (Chiaki took the spare minute or so to grab actual shoes and her horse.) She’d barely pulled them on and laced them when he returned with a sleepy and confused Mitarai, his coat buttoned improperly and his cloak nearly sliding off him. 

“Wh--what’s going on?” he asked nervously, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He seemed just as confused as everyone else, another face poking out the door to see what was happening. The nerves were clear on his face regardless. (Though, it was clear he was always nervous, now.) 

“Komaeda has taken Hinata once more. And you are going to help us track him down.”

He froze. “He came back?” His voice was little more than a whisper. “He left with Hinata?”

Gundham grabbed the reins for both hoses. “Should the fell thing try to deceive us or hide the hunter away, we will need someone who knows him intimately to aid us in finding him.”

“But I--”

“No arguing. We have no time to waste--we may already be too late.”

And just like that, they were gone for real, speeding out of the town with no fanfare or announcement. They followed the direction Komaeda had taken, taking the dark path into the woods. The trees seemed to close in around them, looming threateningly and cutting their field of view down dangerously low. The clouds didn’t help--even with the torches, they could barely see more than a few feet in front of them. Before long, a fog would begin to settle.

“This is a bad idea,” Ryota mumbled, his horse close to Chiaki’s. He was shivering, rubbing his arms for warmth. “Komaeda wouldn’t have left with Hinata unless they both wanted to leave.”

She leaned in closer. Out of all of them, it was likely he knew the most firsthand. Even if he had indeed betrayed them, he’d betrayed Komaeda, too. And he seemed to beat himself about it every second she saw him.

“Do you really think Hajime is actually...in love with him?” The words were sour in her throat, heavy and bitter on her tongue. There were no words she’d rather say less. “Is everything he said...all real? Or do you think this is magic or him being manipulated?” 

(The image of Hajime splayed on the floor with a leg that he could barely support himself on kept playing in her head on loop. Shadows under his eyes. Bruises circling his neck and blood on his shirt.  _ He’s not going to let you take me back. He’s not.)  _ God. What had  _ happened,  _ once she left? What were they hiding?

Ryota sighed. “Yes. I do think it’s legitimate. I don’t know much more than you do, really, but everything I learned from Komaeda’s side makes it seem that he...really does care for Hinata. From what I saw--and I k-know that you saw things as well--that he was doing his best to treat him well. He doesn’t play with feelings like that. If anything...I think...he would try to push Hinata away from him.” He seemed to fold into himself, clearly not expecting to be believed. 

She nodded. “Alright. I don’t think you’re lying about this.” And she didn’t. She really did believe him--as much as she didn’t want to. She wanted it to be easy. They all wanted it to be easy. 

“You know he wants you to hate him, right?” he asked quietly. “Komaeda does.”

Chiaki almost stopped dead in her tracks. “...what?”

Ryota gritted his teeth, staring at the ground. “Komaeda’s a performer. He told me he was keeping him up there so he could keep all of you safe. But--but he didn’t want you all to blame Hinata for what had happened to him.” He leaned just a little too close to Chiaki, his teeth beginning to chatter and his nose bright red. “He bases his thoughts of you based on the people he grew up with. He thinks you’re punishing Hinata for being turned--or that maybe you’d h-hurt him or exile him for...for being a w-werewolf. So, he figured, if he turned all the hate onto him...you would be kinder to Hinata.”

“I can’t say that it didn’t backfire.” Sonia and Gundham and Ibuki were paying them no mind, too busy pushing forward. They only looked back to make sure that they were all together in a group. “I really don’t think Hajime--even if he isn’t enchanted--is in his right mind. And Komaeda has something to do with that. But...I don’t think just ignoring what he had to say helped anything. I just think we did something wrong, dealing with all this.”

“We all messed up--me more than anyone else,” he sighed. “And it seems like the only person we ended up hurting was Hinata. I just wanted to apologize to him--Komaeda was going to let us talk. And then...Sonia brought us all home.” And they’d been locked in their rooms ever since, one keeping himself contained, the other having the door locked from the outside. Both of them being watched. 

“I’ll make sure you can talk to him,” she reassured, touching him hesitantly on the shoulder. “No matter what happens.” 

“Even if Sonia…”

“I will deal with Sonia.” They nodded at each other, not feeling truly calm but glad that they could at least agree on a few things. A small alliance. A small, tiny little agreement. They were just trying to help Hajime--help each other. 

Chiaki stared at the back of Sonia’s head, blinking slowly. 

-

They rode hard and tirelessly for some undetermined amount of time, Hajime slipping in and out of exhaustive, guilty sleep the entire way up. It was an unfamiliar path to him, someone who knew the woods better than most. He had spent most of his life hunting in this massive forest, and yet these trees were foreign to him. And yet he trusted the vampire and let himself drift off, wrapped only in his cloak and nightclothes. The weather was frigid, but he didn’t mind it all that much. There was going to be a roof over his head sooner rather than later. 

Nagito didn’t speak, focused on making sure they got to the promised destination and got there quickly. He’d long since strayed from the traveled paths and even less commonly followed animal trails. The cabin wasn’t impossible to find, but it was well off the beaten path and hidden from prying eyes. They would be safe, he had said. They would be safe. 

Eventually, they slowed to a gentle canter and stopped entirely. Hajime shook his head, feeling like his ears and eyes were full of cotton. 

“We’re here.”

“Tired…” he mumbled, sliding off the saddle and barely landing on his feet. “I’ll stay up until the morning, though. Promise.” 

“Sunrise is still about a few hours away, love. I don’t mind if you rest. It will take a few days to readjust back to sleeping during the day.”

He shook his head. “I napped earlier. I’m going to be fine. I’ve been having trouble sleeping at night, anyway.”

Nagito shrugged, pulling a key from around his neck. (A different key. Not his--his? Did Hajime really think of that collar’s key as his?) He unlocked the front door, ushering him inside.

“I’ll get the fire started. There’s some bread in the kitchen, if you’re hungry.” He shed his long, dark coat, hanging it by the door. He had on a red shirt and black waistcoat underneath, the familiar ruby brooch still pinned at his throat. (Hajime realized he’d never seen him without it.) 

Before Nagito could kneel in front of the fire, Hajime grabbed him and pulled him close into a hug, collapsing to his knees and pulling the other down with him. The frozen tears began to melt into his shirt, Hajime desperately holding back the sniffles or the wetness in his eyes. They held each other close, as if almost to just remind each other that they were real.

(And he  _ was  _ real. His hair was still soft, the front pulled out of his face in a small ponytail. The fabric of his clothes shifted and crinkled under his hands. The brooch was freezing to the touch, carrying the cold from outside into the room. Real, real, real. Cold skin, cold hands. He was real and in his arms.)

“I missed you,” he mumbled, gripping him tight. “I didn’t say it back there--I missed you, so much. I--I just…”

“It’s alright. I missed you, too.” Nagito let go and placed a gentle hand under his chin, pulling him up so their eyes met. Red was swirling under his eyes, slipping down pale cheeks--he was crying, too. And he wasn’t hiding it. He wasn’t running or trying to appear strong for Hajime. It was just him, in his pure self. “I’ve thought about you every day. It  _ destroyed  _ me not to follow as soon as you left. I’m sorry for not coming back sooner. You deserved far better than being left behind--”

“You didn’t leave me behind,” he protested. “You were  _ hurt.  _ Sonia stabbed you, Nagito--of course I wasn’t expecting you to come back right away. I’m fine.”

“They said you couldn’t speak. You look tired, your voice sounds rough.” His brows knitted together. He looked Hajime up and down, checking him over. “You look  _ sick _ , pet.” 

He deflated, his shoulders slumping. “Nobody was  _ listening  _ to me. They all think you have me under some sort of spell--and they saw the bite, and I can’t convince them of anything. And--and when I get too upset, I just...stop talking. I don’t know why, and I don’t know how to stop it. I just  _ can’t  _ talk for a while. Of course, that didn’t really convince them that I knew what I was doing.” 

Nagito nodded, pressing a small kiss to the side of his mouth. “I’m sorry. I...I failed. It seems my shortcomings have backfired on us both.”

They were both dejected, quiet in a dark room. There was a moment of silence, Hajime gripping onto Nagito’s waistcoat. Almost as if to remind himself that he was there. 

“Let’s get the fire going,” he said quietly. “It’s going to get cold. I’m not sleeping next to you unless it warms up in here.”

He chuckled, smoothing Hajime’s hair back. “Of course. I forgot my puppy gets chilly.”

“ _ Hey _ ,” he grumbled, but there was no bite in it. He stood up, giving him a small (yet real) smile, his eyes shiny. “Do you want something to eat, too?”

“Of course.” He let go reluctantly, finding his way to the kitchen. Nagito knelt in front of the fireplace, setting a warm glow throughout the small, pretty cabin. The floor was covered in plush, soft rugs, the walls lined with tapestries and art. Small candles were lit throughout the rooms until the entire home was filled with the slight smell of smoke and the warm glow of candles.

“What is this place?” he asked, bringing out two plates of bread and cheese. “You never mentioned it.” 

“It’s a...safe house of sorts--well, perhaps, that’s too extreme of a phrase. I like to come here to think or calm down.” He took the offered plate and ordered them to the coffee table, to the cozy couch big enough to hold them both. “I found it abandoned several years ago. It was a place to hide from Junko. And now...it’s a place to rest. Nobody knows about it.”

“We won’t be found?”

“I’d be very surprised if we were. You’re the first person I’ve ever brought here. Not even Ryota knows about this place. I have plenty of food and clothing for you, don’t worry.” He sat next to Hajime, cuddling next to him and pulling a blanket over them both. “We’ll be fine. If--if you want to go back, I’ll take you back.” He faltered. “It’s your choice.”

“I left with you because I wanted to,” he said, leaning his head against Nagito’s shoulder. He smelled like he always did, spice and iron. “I know what I’m doing. Promise.”

“I never doubted that for a second.” They ate comfortably, silence finally feeling full and content. He wasn’t speaking, not because he couldn’t, but because he didn’t  _ need  _ to. 

The fire warmed him from the inside out, melting the chill from his bones and softening the stiffness and aches from his muscles. There were two empty plates on the table, two empty cups of water. 

The wind whistled outside the cabin, muffled and muted. (If he listened in the distance, he might have heard a cacophony of hooves. None of the riders would have been able to notice any dim light from the cabin. They kept going on up, and up, to a castle that was empty.) 

“When will we be able to go home?” he mumbled. Nagito stilled for a moment at the phrase, then further softened. 

“A few days. I’ll go check on my own, just to make sure it’s safe. Is that alright?”

“You’re completely fine to do that.” He huddled deeper under the blanket, staring out the window. “They’re going to be upset with me.” A bit of guilt began to grow like a patch of dandelions in his gut. “Really upset. They’re not going to let me out of their sight.”

“I’m sure we’ll be able to talk it out. Miss Chiaki seems to be...coming around. Provided my niece doesn’t come with a knife once more.” 

“I don’t know about Sonia. She’s really out to hurt you.” He leaned down against a couch pillow, Nagito gently pulling him further down until he was resting his head in his lap. “I...it’s scary, Nagito.” Slim hands traced patterns on faded freckles, connecting them in fluid motions. 

“If I can survive her great-grandfather and Junko, I can surely survive her.”   
  


“Will you...hurt her, if you have to?” 

Nagito looked down with an air of concern, smoothing his hair back. “Only if I have no other options left to me. I do not wish to hurt your friends, but if they try to take you against your consent again, I will not hold back. And I will defend myself if I must.” His sword, left in its leather sheath, leaned against the coat rack. Nagito looked at it for a second too long.

“I’m just tired of all this, I think,” he said dejectedly. “I feel like a...stuffed animal, being fought over by a bunch of children. I’m going to rip at the seams if this keeps up. I can’t  _ take  _ the back-and-forth.”

“I can’t imagine how it feels, darling,” Nagito murmured, leaning down and kissing him on the forehead. (So affectionate. Was he just showing it now, because he was afraid that he wasn’t going to have the time to give it all to him later? Or was this how he’d wanted to act, unburdened by the worry and awkwardness of their previous living arrangements?) “But you’ve been doing the best you can. I can only hope that I haven’t made anything any harder than it was. I’ve only ever wanted to help you--help them.” 

“They took it seriously when you called me a pet.” (It was funny to think about it, while he laid down in Nagito’s lap, fingers being run through his hair as if he was being petted.) “Maybe we shouldn’t have taken it so far.” 

“Probably not. Though, they weren’t going to like the collar regardless. Don’t worry, I kept it clean for you,” he said teasingly, pulling a familiar key out of a side pocket. 

“Am I ever going to get that thing from you?”

“Maybe...if you’re good, someday, I’ll give it to you.” He grinned mischievously, putting it around his neck along with the other key. “For old time’s sake.” 

Hajime rolled his eyes, but it was perfectly good-natured. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to take your favorite necklace from you.”

“How considerate, my little puppy is,” he cooed, pulling him up into a kiss. “Just know, I’m going to keep lavishing my affections on you. I didn’t do that nearly enough when we were last together, I think. Of course, if that’s alright…”

Hajime kissed back, running his hands through soft hair. “I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

“I love you, Hajime.”

“I love you too, Nagito.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i hope you enjoyed! you are so loved. remember to drink some water and wash your face, i care about you so much. 
> 
> -fen <3


	41. nervous system

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> perspectives shift and clash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii guys ok so today i started classes again one of my professors had on those plaid hot topic pants she's kind of a girlboss for that actually

The sun had risen by the time they were close to arriving. By all accounts, it was the worst trip through the forest Ryota had ever had. He was cold, his shoes didn’t fit, he wasn’t riding his horse, and he was completely sure that there was going to be nobody to greet them when they arrived. Komaeda had never been forthcoming about how he moved through the world when he couldn’t exist in the sunlight, but he knew with a degree of certainty that he had other places to go when he needed to travel. That didn’t mean he knew where any of them were and he didn’t want to try and poke around for it. That  _ also  _ didn’t mean he wanted to go to the castle. 

He’d tried to tell them as much, but Sonia had persisted regardless. 

“You know he’s not going to be there--if he knows you’re chasing him...I don’t think he’s going to return so quickly...”

“Even if he has yet to return, he cannot hide forever,” she said flatly. “I intend to be here when he comes. I refuse to lose Hajime a second time. Unless, of course, you know where he  _ would  _ be hiding.” Her eyes glinted, and he couldn’t help but shrink back.

“No--no, I don’t,” he said quietly, averting his gaze. “He didn’t tell me everything about his life. I’m just warning you that--”

“ _ Hush _ , Mitarai. You are here to guide us, not to give your thoughts.” And that was the end of that.

He sighed. Nobody was listening to him (quite ironic, that this was what he would bemoan.), certainly nobody had listened to Hinata. He’d been in that throne room with everyone else, sure. He’d seen that collar around his neck. But he’d also seen the look in his eyes. The way they’d held each other when they were together. Something had happened. 

At least Nanami was starting to pay him some mind. They rode beside each other, sharing worried glances and talking quietly when Sonia wasn’t listening. The mayor was only doing her best, only trying to help her friend. And yet she was stuck in her own head, seeming to refuse to listen to anyone, stuck in her own thoughts. 

Even her husband seemed to be concerned for her. Ibuki was certainly looking uncharacteristically disconcerted. It was a mix of worry for Hinata and nervousness over what they were going to find. Over what Sonia was going to do. She had a stake and a silver knife, a rosary hidden in her pocket should she or any of them “need” it. 

She was out to kill. None of the rest of them were. 

Chiaki leaned in to him once she’d gotten ahead. “Do you think he’s not going to be there?”

“I would be very surprised if they were there,” he replied, the fear slightly subsiding when it was only them talking. “I don’t know where he would be. I don’t know where he goes when he leaves. I don’t think they’ve left the forest--but I don’t think we should be out looking for them.”

She sighed, slumping forward in her saddle. “I just want to know what actually happened between them. I’m not going to try and take Hajime back again--not right away. We’ve been running to the hills with a conclusion since the start of it all.”

“I can’t exactly blame you for thinking something was wrong with him.” After all, it was clear to even someone who didn’t know him as well that even if he wasn’t under any sort of enchantment, he wasn’t exactly feeling like himself. 

“No...no.” She shook her head. “I still think something is wrong with him. But I don’t know if it’s Komaeda’s fault. Or even if it is his fault, I don’t know or think that it would be only his fault, you know?” 

He nodded, staring down at his chapped hands. “I’m glad you’re coming around. I know--I know mess this is all my fault, and that I definitely can’t speak on his behalf, but it just seems like you guys weren’t really considering what he had to say.”

Her posture was worse than normal--she was almost laying flush against her horse, the reins loose in her hands. The air of exhaustion hung heavy over them all. Even the seemingly inexhaustible Ibuki was muted and quiet, riding up ahead of them between Sonia and Gundham. “I know--I wanted to listen to him, you know. But he just seemed so out of sorts that I still can’t even  _ imagine  _ that he’s thinking straight.”

“We just can’t say, can we?” he sighed. The guilt had only grown in size since the fateful showdown--it almost felt too big for him, like it was going to burst out of his skin and pour out of his mouth and eyes and ears in an ugly black ooze, sticky and coating every inch of him so that everyone could see it. Everyone knew this was his fault. “I just...I want him to be alright.” Hinata had been lost into a seemingly futile tug of war, where nobody won but he surely was losing more than everyone else. 

“We’ll figure it out,” she said, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself of it than anyone else. “We’re going to make sure that he’s okay.”

The sun beat down on them and the wind had long since died. The parts of the forest they were passing through were familiar--it would be only a matter of minutes before they were outside the gates. It would be empty. Ryota wasn’t someone who often felt confident in his predictions and decisions. But he was sure beyond a doubt that they would be alone up there. Lying in wait. 

(Would Sonia rather be the predator, than the prey?) He could only hope that this wouldn’t end as badly as last visit did. 

-

Sonia hadn’t slept in almost three days. They’d started to see the spires of the castle a while back, and they only got closer and closer to her. There was a knife hidden under her skirt and a stake close to her hand at all times. And yet, doubt was eating her alive. 

She’d promised them they wouldn’t let Hajime be taken away again. And then Komaeda had shown up, mocking her in front of them all and speeding off with him--hiding him away once more. Was she right, to follow them again when her friend had begged her not to separate them? 

(He wasn’t thinking properly, she somberly reminded herself. There was no way he was thinking properly.) And yet, she just couldn’t be  _ sure.  _ It was destroying her, corroding at her insides to take such a harsh stance. But being a leader wasn’t easy. She had to take care of her people, even if she had to make tough decisions along the way. Maybe she would regret this someday (she already regretted it, if she wasn’t lying to herself), but the others would never know. They deserved nothing less than her best and most polished self. And that meant she had to stick to her decisions and see them through. 

What kind of leader was constantly doubting themselves the way she was now? 

Gundham reached out and took her hand, giving her an encouraging nod. The trees were thinning--before long they’d arrive. 

“We will find our friend.” He leaned over and kissed her softly on the cheek, a small bird catching his eye as he pulled back away. “So it seems the animals are repelled from this place. I cannot blame them. The air of this place is foul.” He gripped his reins tighter. The air smelled fine to her, but she didn’t question him--she knew what he meant. 

And soon they were walking over cobblestones. The horses were dismounted, everyone dragging their feet and looking like they would rather be anywhere else. 

“I really hate this place,” Chiaki mumbled, taking Ibuki’s offered hand and leaning on her. Gundham had a tight grip on Ryota’s shoulder. (He looked like he was about to faint, but at this point she’d gotten used to that.) “It’s just so...bleak. I can’t imagine living in a place like this.” 

Sonia pinned her hair back, stretching quickly to rid any aches from her muscles. “I have to agree.” The sky felt desaturated here, like a film of grey had settled over everything. “Everyone stay in your pairs. I will be fine alone.”

“Is that wise--”

“I will be alright,” she said firmly, not feeling very sure of herself at all. “If he is here, I would like to speak to him on my own.”

“Sonia--” Chiaki started. “Sonia, if you find Komaeda...please. Please let us try to talk to him and figure things out. I don’t think we’ve been approaching this wisely--I really think we need to know  _ more--” _

“Do you trust a word he says? Can you trust what either of them are saying, when he seems to keep Hajime right next to him at all times?” Her breath caught in her throat, her hands trembling just slightly. She hid them behind her back. 

“I would be able to trust him a lot more if we were talking to him without fighting over Hajime! Sonia--I just want to know the truth.” Her voice...was it cracking? “I just want to know what’s going on. You don’t know what’s happening, either. Please, just...don’t be so hasty to start more violence.” 

“I stabbed him once already.” The look in both of their eyes chased her whenever she laid down. She could very well be making a massive mistake right now. But she needed to put forth that strong front. She needed to be unified and perfect, or everyone else would fall apart too. 

“Please, Sonia.  _ Please  _ let me try and talk things out if he’s here.” She walked up and grabbed her hand, forcing her to deal with how cold and chapped they were. They’d all ran out of bed to come here. This had been a split-second decision. 

But she was not one to not see things through to the end. 

“I can make you no promises,” she said softly, dropping Chiaki’s hand. “Come. Let us start searching.”

\--

It felt good to sleep when the sun was out. Even though the windows of the master bedroom had the same wash of black paint and drawn curtains of Nagito’s room back home, the chirping of the early winter birds made a gentle ambience that sent him right back to sleep. They’d somehow made it from the couch to Nagito’s bed (their bed?), huddling under a large quilt, Hajime pulling him against his chest as they laid down. 

It was quiet, aside from the crackle of a fireplace and the sounds of nature outside, muffled through sturdily built walls. The nearest person was miles away. (The castle was being thoroughly searched, torn apart in an attempt to find people that simply weren’t there. The village was quiet and dejected, confused and nervous.) They were safe, and they were alone with each other. 

They slept late, staying in bed until the moon was high in the sky above them.

Komaeda woke up first, leaving Hajime tucked in bed. He kissed him softly on the forehead and pulled the blanket back over him, slipping out into the kitchen. He relit all the lights, pulling out loose tea and a kettle. As the water heated, he set out the mugs and began to prepare a small meal for Hajime. 

In a slightly kinder world, this would last forever. They would be safe in this small cabin for as long as Hajime wanted to be there--if he wanted to go home Nagito would take him back without a question. (But if this was to be a kind world, perhaps he wouldn’t want to leave. No, that was too selfish.) 

But this wasn’t a kind world. He sliced some dried meat, trying not to let his mind turn to the inevitable question-- _ how much time did they have?  _ This idyllic peace couldn’t last--life didn’t like him nearly enough. His niece was too determined to drag Hajime back home to let them stay hidden forever.

This wasn’t going to last long. He wasn’t going to delude himself into thinking that it was going to last long. 

The tea kettle whistled. 

But he would do his best to make whatever time they had was good. There would be no attempts to teach him how to work on his monstrous side--just a desperate attempt to show him how he wanted to treat him all the time. Love was scary--terrifying, actually. (God, it felt like a dirty word. But he was slowly accustoming himself to using it.) But he couldn’t help but want to spoil the other man--he’d so clearly had one of the hardest times of his life and Nagito certainly hadn’t eased it.

He poured the water into their mugs, scattering the leaves on the bottom.

They didn’t have long. He had to remind himself that they didn’t have long. But he would make sure the time they had uninterrupted was peaceful. 

He finished preparing the meal and waited for the tea to steep, taking the plate in one hand and the mug in the other. The cabin had always felt small, but never so full as when they were both sharing it. It was a good feeling, a safe one. This was something he’d like to bottle and get himself drunk on for the rest of his life, if he could. 

The path back to their bedroom was silent, his feet sinking into plush carpets he’d laid down years ago. He’d restored this place almost by himself, slowly shaping it into a livable space every chance he could slip away. It almost felt nice, to share it.

He nudged open the bedroom door with his shoulder, Hajime still asleep under all the covers.

“It’s time to get up,” he said softly, fondly. “I have food for you.”

Hajime just groaned and turned over, yanking the blanket over his head. “Stop being all nice,” he grumbled, clearly only just starting to wake up. “It’s weird when you’re nice….’m still sleepy…”

Nagito put the food down on the nightstand and walked over. “Would you prefer this, then?” He took the quilt in his hand and pulled it off, biting back a laugh when he hissed and curled into himself.

“Give it back.”

“I find I don’t want to. It’s time to wake up, love. You’ve been asleep half the night.”

He glared up at Nagito, but there was no real edge to it. “Fine,” he groused, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. “You said you had food?”

“I know they weren’t feeding you enough back there,” he said, handing the plate over. “There’s more in the kitchen.” Hajime took it gratefully, despite the feigned grumpiness. 

Nagito sat down next to him while he ate, folding his hands in his lap. 

Hajime stared ahead at the window he couldn’t see anything out of. “I know we probably aren’t going to be here for very long.”

“I know. But we can make it good, right?”

“...yes.” They would make it the best they could. 

\--

It took a long time for Sonia to notice that she was crying as she searched the empty halls. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i hope you enjoyed! please know that you are loved and cherished. see you soon! :3
> 
> -fen <3


	42. tastebuds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> search.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooga booga we are so close to 100k words

It was just like Ryota had said. Chiaki looked everywhere with Ibuki at her side, but all they found was the same as the first time they’d searched the cold, drafty castle. Empty rooms and dusty floors. They’d even broken into Komaeda’s room, to find it deserted. The hearth was completely cold and swept clean of ashes. The bed was neatly made, the covers tucked perfectly under the pillows. 

“I thought vampires slept in coffins!” Ibuki said, ruining the bedspread and happily tearing away the red quilt. “Do you think there’s one built into the mattress?” She seemed visibly disappointed when she reached the bottom of the layers of blankets and there was no coffin to be found. 

“I guess he doesn’t actually have to. Or maybe he sleeps somewhere else.” That didn’t seem likely, though, considering the neatly folded clothes in the chest of drawers and the pressed shirts and waistcoats hanging in the armoire (which seemed to be in a slightly different place than she remembered. Wasn’t it in front of the tapestry?). The shoes were polished and shiny, free of creases and even the clearly worn ones were in good condition and treated well. So he was someone who took good care of his things. (That was a little reassuring, if she was honest with herself.)

“That’s kind of boring, Ibuki thinks,” she said sagely, flouncing over and taking a big red cape from its place, wrapping it around herself. “This thing is  _ heavy--” _

Chiaki sighed. “I know we’re supposed to be looking, but I don’t think there’s anyone here.” 

This room, despite the cleanliness, was dark aside from torchlight and left a bad taste in her mouth. Hajime  _ had  _ surely been in here, the last time she had torn in. And they had escaped. While she was here--while she had time, she would figure it out. There was nothing under the bed--Ibuki was pulling books out of there, perhaps looking for a diary? She checked behind the tapestries and curtains, rapping at the blackwashed windowpanes. Nothing. 

Her eyes settled on the armoire. Perhaps the only place she hadn’t thoroughly searched. 

“Ibuki.”

“Yes, Chi?” she asked, thumbing through a leather-bound sketchbook. “He’s a good artist, actually. Lots of pictures of two random ladies, though.” She opened to a random page and showed it to her--as she had said, two women. One with pink hair (the same woman in the stained glass?), and one with short, dark hair. A knife held together in locked hands. 

“Can you help me move this armoire over? I want to check something. I’ll help you look through that once I finish poking around over here.”

“Do you think you’re going to find them underneath the castle or something? That would be a little exciting! Hopefully the spiders haven’t gotten to Hajime...” she trailed off, losing herself in her thoughts. Chiaki had to get her back to the present before she got lost entirely and started writing a song about the creatures.

“No. I don’t. But the last time we were here, they escaped from this room and got to the throne room. I don’t know how, but I want to figure it out. Maybe we’ll find something.”

“Alrighty!” She sprang up from her seat, still wrapped in the bloodily red cape. (She realized with a start that it was the same cape that he’d been wearing when he had Hajime on his lap. When he had him in a collar. Even if she was able to talk it out with him, she didn’t think she’d ever forgive him for that.) “Where are we moving it to, then?”

“Just in front of that tapestry. Here, get on that side...I’ll push and you pull. I don’t want to try and lift it.”

“Ibuki thinks that would be a bad idea, yes,” she agreed. They stood on opposite ends, jerking the armoire awkwardly out of its position until the bare floor where it stood was uncovered. 

“Thanks.” 

“Mhm!” Ibuki went back to thumbing through the sketchbooks, having long since accepted that they were alone here and likely would be stuck for a few days. 

It seemed too obvious, once she was staring at the floor. It  _ couldn’t  _ be that easy. The slightly discolored stone  _ couldn’t  _ be--she stepped on it regardless. 

The floor began to rumble around her.

So it  _ was  _ that easy. How had she missed this before--well, she hadn’t exactly had time to move the furniture. It still was infuriating to think that the answer had stared her in the face the entire time and she’d still managed to miss it. A set of stairs had revealed themselves to her, paving the way to an underground passage. The dark was huge and the smell was musty and old. This is how they had gotten out, then. (Perhaps this was how Komaeda would try to get back in.)

“Ibuki?”

“Well, what do you know? Ibuki has never seen that before.” She peered over Chiaki’s shoulder, finally shedding the cape and hanging it back up. “Are we going down?” The dark seemed to leak out of the tunnel, her torch fluttering in the face of it. She couldn’t help but feel just a little bit smaller when she stared down at it. 

“We have to.” There was no way around it. Even if there was nobody actually down there, there had to be at least a few answers. 

“Should we go tell someone first?”

She was right--they should probably go find Sonia and tell her what they’d found. But she wasn’t quite sure that was a good idea.  _ I can make no promises.  _ If Komaeda was lurking below (unlikely), or tried to return via these passages (perhaps more likely), it wouldn’t be good if Sonia was the first to find him. 

“Let’s explore a little before we go find anyone. There are two of us, right? We should be fine. I doubt there’s anything dangerous down here.” That reminded her once more that Sonia was probably the only dangerous thing in the castle right now.

She was really getting worried for her mayor. Of course, Chiaki knew she was only acting out of concern and to help her friend, but she’d seem to completely set her mind on a bloody end. As unfathomable as it may have initially seemed, there were multiple potential answers to the question of Hajime’s behavior. She’d known Sonia long enough to be sure that she likely wasn’t as convicted of her belief as she seemed--only that she wanted to put forth that strong front for everyone else. But whether she was completely sold to the idea or not didn’t exactly matter. If she found Komaeda, he would end up hurt or dead. If she found Hajime, she would drag him out no matter what it took. 

She took a step down into the darkness. Then another, and another, grabbing onto Ibuki’s hand. She gripped it tight, giving her a reassuring squeeze as they began their descent. 

If it had been cold up there, it was freezing here, their breath starting to cloud in front of them by the time they’d reached the bottom of the stairs. As soon as they stepped off, the stone floor closed back over them, cutting off all light from everywhere except for a single torch. 

Sealing them in. 

“Ibuki thinks we should have told someone where we were going.”

\--

Hajime was spectacularly bad at making tea. This was no secret--he always got impatient and the water was too cold, or the leaves hadn’t steeped long enough. And when he would throw the batch out and remake it, he more often than not overcompensated, leaving it undrinkable either way.

So, naturally, Nagito made him do it under supervision. “It really isn’t all that hard.”

“Yes, it is,” he grouched, giving the tea kettle a death glare as it heated over the fire.

“You just have to wait until the steam makes it whistle, darling.” He pulled over a stool and sat next to Hajime, smiling amusedly at the animosity between his lover and an inanimate object. “I can get you being bad about letting the tea steep, but messing this step up is a bit funny to me.”

“I don’t want to hear it; you’ve been doing this for longer than I’ve been alive.”

“Only by about seventy years or so. They didn’t let me near the teapot when I was human.”

Hajime shot him a confused glance, his war with the kettle immediately forgotten. “Why not? I thought you said you spent all of your human life at home.”

He sighed, looking at the flames for a moment too long. “I was bedbound for the majority of my living years. I did tell you the plague struck my home, correct? I also had a terrible tendency to drop things...my hands were often quite shaky and my luck could be quite horrendous.”

“Yes, you told me, but--it usually doesn’t leave people so incapacitated--”   
  


He shrugged. “I was of exceptionally poor health even before that. It’s quite the miracle that I survived the sickness. However, it forever sapped my energy and strength. I often had to be in bed because walking outside to relieve myself took all my energy for the day. I spent my days playing with my cousin, mostly, once she was born. She’d sit at the end of the bed and we’d play with her dolls until she or I fell asleep.” He grinned fondly at the memory. “I still keep my hair long because she loved to play with it.”

“And you left anyway?” He cringed, realizing how that had come out. “Sorry--”

“It’s alright. I loved my cousin, undoubtedly, but my uncle was not a good man. He loved her and spoiled her, of course, but we never quite...got along. It was a happy home for her--I made sure of it--but it was not a good place for me. He had no want to care for a nephew that could barely walk.” 

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

“It wasn’t,” he said. “But he’s been dead for a very long time. I’d hope that I’m past it by now.” 

“Your cousin?” 

“To my knowledge, she passed a few years ago.” The kettle whistled and Nagito took it, grabbing the handle and passing it off to Hajime. “I know she’s resting well. She was Miss Nevermind’s grandmother. Perhaps you had met her before.”

Hajime nodded. “I think I did. She died when I was maybe...ten or eleven, but I do remember her being nice.”

She’d offered to take Hajime in once his parents had died. Something about how she had room for a child if the Nanamis didn’t want the burden of raising him. Obviously they’d refused and he’d lived under their roof ever since, but he’d always had a fuzzy memory of her giving him sweets and letting him sleep in the big bed at her house while the hunters looked with no avail to find what had killed his parents. 

_ He’d let it in, hadn’t he?  _ The idea had never occurred to him--he never went back into that old house full of ghosts and blood. He wasn’t even sure why he’d gone back, even with Komaeda at his side. It wasn’t really fair to blame himself--he was only a child, after all, but he’d  _ let it in.  _

He didn’t know why. He didn’t know what it was, he didn’t remember what it said to him or if it said anything at all. All he remembered was opening that door, feeling the hot breath on the back of his neck. (Maybe--maybe, claws ushering him back into his bed.)

God-- _ no.  _ It was getting harder and harder to push away the memories. Not now. Not  _ now.  _ He had tea to pour. His hands shook when he poured it, but he could only hope Nagito hadn’t noticed. (He had.) 

“That’s comforting.” Nagito placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Alright. You just have to wait a little while--I’ll tell you when.”

“Alright.” He swallowed hard, his throat feeling dry. “I’m sorry you didn’t get more time with her.”

“I made my peace with it a very long time ago. I am sure that she lived a very good life.” He seemed calm and serene, a small smile on his face. “She was a fine young lady--I’m sure she did quite well for herself.”

“She did. If you like...maybe...someday...if you can go back there...we can visit her grave. Only if you want.”

He stiffened. “That would be nice,” he said quietly. “It would be nice to bring her some flowers.” 

Hajime turned around and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll make sure you can.” The tea was steeped. Nagito nodded, and they took the mugs, drinking slowly. (it turned out perfectly.)

He didn’t want to think about the dark night that haunted him. So he drank his perfect tea and stood next to his lover. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i hope you enjoyed! you are loved. have an excellent day!
> 
> -fen <3


	43. footprints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> old memories come roaring to the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys!!! i kind of want to celebrate hitting 100k words....should we do something fun? maybe a q&a in the comments of the next chapter? let me know if you all want to do something <3

Hajime always felt safer when he slept next to other people. That simple, lifelong fact was making more and more sense, based on what he was remembering. More and more they were coming back to him, as he stared up at the ceiling. Nagito laid on his chest, his arms wrapped around him and holding him close. He was deeply asleep, looking more like he was dead. It still made Hajime jump a little bit when he would forget himself and realize the other wasn’t breathing. He didn’t need to breathe, he didn’t _need_ to breathe. It was different, this time. He was alright. 

But it wasn’t exactly comforting. His mind kept wandering, worsening by the amount of time Nagito slept on him, cold with no heartbeat. (There was no blood. He just had to remind himself that there was no blood.) Their bed was clean and nobody was bleeding out next to him.

He needed to rest. There were still dark marks under his eyes. Sleep would make him feel better. If he just slept, he could get past this. 

So he forced himself to relax and closed his eyes, releasing all the tension in his body. He would be fine. This had happened years and years ago. To still be so bothered (bothered wasn’t the right word. It was so far beyond bothered that he couldn’t even begin to find the proper term.) about everything that happened _twelve_ years ago made him want to shrivel and curl into himself. 

There wasn’t blood anywhere. He stared up at the ceiling, tucked under the quilt with Nagito peacefully resting on him. He would be fine. He would be _completely fine_ if he just ignored those truths from when he was young. The guilt began to grow in his gut, along with a healthy dose of fear. He didn’t want to deal with this right now. He would rather have dealt with _anything else right now._

Nagito slept on. Hajime didn’t dare try and move or wake him up. This wasn’t Nagito’s problem. It wasn’t fair to burden him with it. He needed, needed, _needed_ to think about anything else. 

But his mind was gripped in a vice by this one specific, terrible night. It was time for him to remember, whether he liked it or not.

The memories that he’d shoved away for so long swallowed him whole. 

_He’d been put to bed hours ago--but the noise woke him up._

_There was a knock at the door. Maybe not a knock--it was more of a thump, really. His parents didn’t seem like they heard anything. Hajime’s bedroom was closer to the door, after all, and he slept with his door open and a candle lit. The dark was scary and he needed an easy escape to his parents’ bed if it got to be too cold or his bad dreams got too scary._

_But someone was at the door. It was polite to answer the door. That’s what Mama and Papa always did. He didn’t see anything particularly wrong with opening it, even if it was late and he was supposed to be asleep. He knew everyone in town--if they’d come when they were supposed to be asleep, it had to be important._

_His thumb was still in his mouth. He was in his father’s shirt--it was cold out, and he liked to have it on because it covered his feet even when he laid down flat on his back. There was nothing worse than cold feet when he went to bed. The only problem was he had a tendency to trip when he wore it--that was fine. He wouldn’t trip while he was just answering the door. It was a short walk._

_He was short, and the doorknob was still a little high for him. So he reached up and did his best not to trip when he unlocked the door and opened it. (It almost sounded like something was scratching, until he pulled the bolt.)_

_Hajime thought there would be one of the grown-ups outside. That they would ask him for one of his parents. Well, the thing that was outside wasn’t a grown-up. He had to crane his neck to see its face, still. An animal? If it was, it was bigger than any other animal that he’d ever seen._

_The teeth were huge, the eyes glinting red. Black fur. It looked terrifying--and more importantly, it looked angry. A low growl escaped a drooling mouth._

_It walked inside before Hajime could try and close the door. He turned around and began to run for his parents. “Ma--”_

_His leg caught on the shirt and he collapsed on his feet, his nose slamming into the floorboards. Blood was leaking out, and he began to sniffle, tears leaking down his face. His mouth clammed up--his jaw was sore. It would hurt to talk. The animal stared him down, padding closer and closer and_ **_closer_ ** _. Those teeth were the size of his hands. He was going to be bitten in_ **_half._ ** _The thing’s claws were leaving_ **_gouges_ ** _in the floor, the sound so ugly that he slammed little hands over his ears._

_It was staring at him. It wouldn’t stop staring at him. The thing’s breath was hot and rank, being blown directly into his face. He was going to be eaten. Chewed on like a piece of steak. He scrambled back on his hands, his back slamming against the wall._

_It still came closer and closer. The growling had stopped, but he was still so scared that he was sure he was going to throw up. Mama and Papa's_ _door was closed. Did they hear anything? Or were they deeply asleep?_

_The thing stared at him. He stared at the thing. It didn’t attack. It didn’t bite. But it came closer, staring at him sniffle and cry. The nose edged under his arm, nudging him up. The thing pushed him onto his feet, staring at him expectantly. His hands slipped from his ears, his thumb going back into his mouth. There was blood starting to stain his father’s shirt. (Would Papa be upset with him? Mama always said blood was hard to get out of clothes.)_

_The thing--the animal--looked up, sniffing around. It nudged him forward, circling around behind him. A wet nose shoved into his back, pushing him forward. Shoving him into--his bedroom? There was recognition in its eyes. It knew what it was doing. Even as young as he was, Hajime knew that whatever it was, it was just as smart--smarter, even, then him. The beast’s tail slipped around the door handle, slamming the door shut behind him. It was a clear message._

_He didn’t leave his room for the entire night. There were noises from Mama and Papa's room--he hoped everything was going to be alright. Something told him he just_ **_shouldn’t_ ** _leave the room, that whatever it was wanted him to stay behind._

_So he stayed until it got quiet. The ugly sound of claws on the floorboard passed by his room again._

_Then it was silent._

_Until the sky turned pink on the horizon, he kept hiding._

_He opened the door._

_“Mama? Papa?” Their door was open--no, it was_ **_missing_ ** _. He flinched if he stepped on the wrong place, splinters setting into his feet. But he would take the splinters so he didn’t fall again. His nose already ached._

_They didn’t answer him._

_“Mama?”_

_He took a step into the dark room. It smelled like iron. Still too dark to see._

_“Papa?”_

_Something dripped on him from the ceiling. It couldn’t be rain--it was warm and it felt weird on his face. He opened his mouth to call for them again--maybe they were still asleep. It dripped into his mouth._

_That wasn’t water._

_“...Mama?” His voice felt so small, drowning in the dark room. He took a step back, hurrying back to his room for his candle. He held it carefully in a hand that was shaking just slightly._

_“Papa?”_

_No answer. No answer at all._

_He lifted the candle up as he walked into the room with splintered feet, his favorite sock animal under his arm to make him feel braver._

_His breath stuck in his throat, just barely strong enough to blow out the flame before it fell from his hands, making a splash as it clattered onto the floor._

_The room was awash in red from what he could see in the dim early morning light, flecks and juts of white staring at him from the bed. The hem of his shirt got heavier as he moved forward. (They were going to get mad. Blood was hard to wash out of clothes.)_

_He tried to shake Mama’s shoulder. Or at least, what he thought was Mama’s shoulder. There was no answer._

_If something went wrong, he was always told to go to the Nanamis. They were next door._

_And so he numbly walked out, leaving red footprints behind him._

He felt like he couldn’t breathe, staring up at the ceiling. Nagito or not--no. He couldn’t just stay lying down. He _shoved_ the covers off him and stumbled out of the bed, lunging for the door before Nagito fully woke up and could ask what was wrong. 

Black fur. Red eyes. That fucking glint of recognition in his mind when he’d seen the animal on the back of his horse a few months ago. He’d chalked it up to a coincidence. It wasn’t the first werewolf he’d killed. But it was the first who’d looked like _that._

Of course. Of fucking _course,_ of all the creatues in all the wide fucking world that could have bitten and turned him, it was the one who made a meal of his parents and still spared his life.

A sleepy whisper came from the bedroom. “Hajime…?” He shut the door--not daring to let any sunlight leak in and hurt him, even when he was so distraught and lost in his own head. 

He was standing breathlessly in front of the mirror that would only reflect him, frantically pulling his shirt over his head, bringing the irreversibly destroyed and scarred shoulder into the light. The scars were so _ugly,_ making a huge, jagged circle that would never, ever leave him. Another horrible, forever reminder of all that had happened to him. 

Of course it was the same beast. Of course he’d killed it and he’d had no idea who he’d brought down. Werewolves sank back into human form when they were killed. He’d buried the man with long dark hair and skin almost too pale to be human and hadn’t the faintest idea that this was the one who put him _on_ this path all those ugly years ago. His gasps were ragged and his chest rose and fell far too quickly. 

Wait-- _no._ He didn't remember burying someone that night. Why would he have thought it was just a regular wolf for so long when he'd _buried someone_ \--no. _More fucking missing memories, coming back to him._ Because if he really thought about it, all he remembered was shooting at the thing and then being in his house, Chiaki cleaning his wounds. Why did he just _shove out that it had changed back?_ Why did it want to come back now, at the very worst of times?

It was all just too much. 

“Hajme? What’s wrong? Please come back in here--we can talk about it--” He sounded so worried, muffled through the wooden door. 

“So you fuck up my life _twice,”_ he laughed sardonically, even if just to keep himself together. It wasn’t just grief in his body; there was a deep-seated _rage_ boiling up in him and threatening to overflow. “And I didn’t even know it was _you.”_

He wanted to shatter the mirror, punch until his reflection was gone entirely.

But he stood deathly still and stared and stared and _stared_ at the scar on his shoulder. It didn’t cause him much pain anymore. But he almost wished it did, just so he would have a better _reason_ to be so upset, so distraught over something that happened twelve years ago. 

The anger flooded out of him like a broken dam. He collapsed to his knees, trying and failing to cover his shoulder with a hand. 

“I’m fine, Nagito,” he said. He was lying. “I’m fine.” 

“You don’t _sound_ fine. Please come back in here, love.” He sounded so concerned, so worried. “I want to help you.”

“I know you do.” His voice sounded so much smaller than he wanted it to be. 

He could still taste the blood in his mouth. He _swore_ he could taste the blood in his mouth. 

“I’m coming.”

It was a trial to force himself up off the floor. He left his shirt in a pile on the ground. The door was cracked just slightly as he slipped in, making sure that no light slipped in. 

Nagito was waiting for him, his hair disheveled and falling into his face. “What happened?” 

He shook his head and collapsed into a chair, covering his face with his hands. “I remembered.”

He’d remembered, and it’d left him cold to the bone. 

It'd left him hollow, cold without his or his father's shirt.  
  
  
Papa's clothes would probably fit him now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i hope you enjoyed! you are loved. please make sure to take care of yourself today. 
> 
> -fen <3


	44. handheld

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ibuki and Chiaki try to find their way out of the passages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Like I said before, I'd like to celebrate reaching 100k words with you guys. I know it's a little silly, but I never thought I'd make it this far in any story, let alone this one. And all the love I've received while I've written it has been absolutely mindblowing. 
> 
> And as we all know, I'm really, **really** bad at replying to comments (but I read and appreciate all of them!). So I'd like to fix that--I guess I'd like to host a little q&a in the comments today! Ask me anything you want, and I'll answer (no asking for spoilers or anything inappropriate, please), whether it be about the story, or me, or anything, really! I just think it would be something fun for all of us.

Ibuki and Chiaki cast the torches to the walls, looking to find a way out of their new predicament. There were no visible switches, at least, not that she could see. All that greeted them were walls of old stone and scones with unlit torches. She leaned in and lit them with her own, breathing a sigh of relief at the light. But even with the illumination, there was no way to open the stairs back up (that they could see.)

“I don’t think we have anywhere to go but forward.” She slipped an extra torch out, handing it to Ibuki. They’d probably be fine. After all, Hajime and Komaeda got out of here just fine--and relatively quickly. So provided they didn’t get too ridiculously lost, they would be alright. “Just keep lighting the torches as we go.”

“That makes sense, yes,” she agreed, bobbing her head up and down. “Light might be helpful.” They took one last sweep of the area they’d stepped into. Nowhere to go but forward.

Ibuki took her free hand once more, making sure they stayed together. “Off we go! It’s a new adventure for us!”

The underground halls were quiet, the only sound being their small footsteps echoing doing a long corridor. The dark wasn’t menacing, the cool air feeling as if it was empty except for them. Nobody was there.

All they could do was light torches, leading way to stone and more stone. They turned sharp corners and followed gentle turns alike. There were wooden doors set into the walls on occasion, but they all were locked. 

So they kept going on, and on, and on. They didn’t know how long they were under there for. It could have only been ten minutes since they’d stepped down, for all she knew. But they kept walking, lighting the torches as they went and trying all the doors to no avail. It was too early to get nervous. It really was too early to get nervous. She needed to be rational. Ibuki didn’t seem nervous (but then again, when had Ibuki ever been nervous?), skipping along and swinging their hands as they traveled. 

“So...Chiaki.” Her voice mellowed some. “Ibuki spent lots of time with Hajime, but she didn’t get to talk to you very much. She wants to know how you’re doing.” She squeezed her hand and gave her a little smile, the blue and pink ribbons she always tied into her hair feeling bouncy in the firelight. “Is my friend okay?”

She paused for a moment, then shook her head. “No. Not really.”

“Want to talk about it?”

No. Not really. If she talked about it, it would only further upset her. Her mind was throwing itself into all different directions, like strands of red and black yarn tying themselves into around her fingers and wrists and pulling her every which way but forward. She didn’t have any clear answers to anything, and the more she got stuck in her own head, the muddier it got. 

“I don’t think I do,” she said truthfully. “I’m just worried, you know? I’ve been worried since he left for the first time. It’s not like any of us have caught any sort of break.” Even when he had come back home for those two weeks, his miserable silence and the exhaustion dripping off everything he did had permeated every room of the house. Everything about him had  _ screamed  _ that he just hadn’t wanted to be there. Of course, he seemed more than relieved to see her and his friends once more. But there was a dejection, a resignation to it all. 

And though she hadn’t said it, it was affecting her, too. The exhaustion was mutual, the way they collapsed into the beds almost identical.

“That makes sense.” They turned another corner, lighting up more torches as they went. “Ibuki just wants to make sure that Chiaki thinks she’s going to be alright. She thinks this has been too hard on all of us and we’ve just been...going on regardless.”

“You’re right.” She nodded, beginning to feel tired just at the thought of the past few months. When was the last time she had a good night’s sleep? The first night he’d come home? Before he’d been bitten for the first time? “I know Hajime has probably had it worse than the rest of us, but we’ve all been running ourselves ragged since everything began. I just want everything to be figured out peacefully. The violence is...scary, you know?”

Sonia and her knife. Chiaki’s own stake, hanging off her belt. The elegant sword that Komaeda held so deftly in a gloved hand. The way that Hajime himself always seemed to be unarmed when the fights began. (Unless, of course, he wasn’t wearing his own skin. Her arm ached at the thought.) 

Ibuki squeezed her hand once more. She didn’t have any weapons on her, either (just a flute). She never did. There might be a pan in her bag, but Ibuki didn’t fight. Despite her eccentricities, she was a peacemaker. If she was there, she was there to do her best to mediate or lighten the situation.

“Wait--what’s that?” Ibuki pointed at the end of the hall. Something was changing up ahead. Was that a...set of stairs? “I think we’ve found the way out!”

“So this is most likely the way they got through,” Chiaki mumbled. “I don’t know how we didn’t find it the first time.” It seemed like it was obvious now, their escape route staring them directly in the face as they scrambled around looking for him. “If we had found it then…” Maybe that terrible night would have gone better.

There was a switch on the wall. 

Ibuki flipped the small level, jumping out of her skin when the screech of stone on stone filled the hall. It was loud and jarring, grating on her ears. (How had they not _ heard  _ anything?)

Light poured out from the opening--they both breathed a sigh of relief when they ascended back into the light, coming up right behind a familiar throne.

_ “ _ Jesus _ FUCK--”  _ Sonia stared at them in utter bewilderment, the water cup she was drinking from clattering to the floor. She clapped a hand over her mouth, taking a moment to compose herself. Her socks were wet. “Girls. It seems you both have found something?” 

“Sorry for scaring you--” Chiaki said breathlessly, pointing back at the sliding stone opening--how was it so quiet on this end? What? “--there’s a passage. It connects Komaeda’s room and here--it comes up right behind the throne, see?”

“So that explains how they got here, then. Was there anything else of interest?”

“Only a few locked doors and a lot of torches. He’s not down there, if that’s what you’re asking. If there’s a way to get in through those halls, we didn’t see it.” Ibuki nodded in agreement, unceremoniously draping herself across the throne. She didn’t look very comfortable. 

“Gundham may have tools to pick locks with him--I am not quite sure. But I will go down with him later and see what we find. Even a hairpin may do the trick. I do not want to leave any potential entrances hidden to us. He will  _ not  _ slip back in unnoticed.”

Chiaki’s gut couldn’t help but clench. There was so much conviction in her words--and yet...did it reach her eyes? She couldn’t tell. 

“Thank you for finding this, girls. Here--you should eat something,” she said, gesturing for them to sit down at the blanket spread on the ground. “We were going to use the kitchen, but the idea of a picnic was just a bit appealing.” She smiled sheepishly. “It is a little dark in there, anyway...you two need the sunlight.”

They sat down with her, taking sips from canteens of water and eating the offered dried fruit and nuts. It was nice food, likely from her own private stores. 

“If we stay up here for a few days, like it seems we will, I will make sure food is brought up. Someone can go retrieve it, if they get cabin fever--”

“Ibuki will!” she said happily. “She has a good sense of direction.”

“Very well, then. So it looks like we have everything settled.”

\--

Nagito was more than worried for Hajime. He’d thrust himself out of bed, coming back in visibly about to cry and without his shirt. 

“What did you remember?” he asked carefully, coming over and wrapping a blanket around him. He shook his head, slumping deep into the chair. 

“My parents,” he choked out. 

Oh. 

“And...the night I got bitten. I--I don’t know how I shoved it out of my head, Nagito, I  _ don’t know how this happened-- _ I  _ buried someone that night.  _ And...the same thing that attacked my house was the same thing that  _ bit me.  _ I killed it and I didn’t even know who I killed--he turned back into his human form and I just shoved out that I buried him with a bitten shoulder. I just went home with the dirt under my nails and I thought it was just a normal wolf.”

Nagito could only put a hand on his shoulder.

“I feel crazy, Nagito,” he whispered, covering his eyes with a hand. “There are things missing all over--who knows what else I shoved out? People kept telling me that you were using me, and I  _ know  _ that’s not true. I  _ know  _ it’s not true.”   
  


He’d never used Hajime. He wasn’t Junko (he had to assure himself of that.), he had no intention of making another person into a puppet for his own ends. God only knew that he’d been tied onto enough strings into his own life. But he completely understood his apprehension. Of course his memory was shaking him up right now. It couldn’t help but make Nagiot nervous, even if it was unfair to them both.

“You can trust your memory, pet,” he promised, pulling up a stool and sitting down beside him. “I...I spent a very long time alone. So, well, I would read quite a few things; there was nothing else to do, after all! But I remember reading a specific book on people who had gone through difficult things, such as yourself.” Hajime looked up, an unspoken question shining in his eyes. 

Nagito took his hand in his own, silently marveling how big and callused they were. Hands accustomed to a life of work, but they were still warm and safe. “It said that sometimes when people go through hard times, or a particularly distressing event, their mind will bury the memories to protect them. You aren’t insane. You have  _ never  _ been insane. All you’re guilty of, love, is having hard times. And you’ve been dealing with them just as best as you can.”

Hajime nodded quietly, squeezing his hand. “That makes sense. For a really long time, I couldn’t remember anything about that...entire year. But I just don’t know how that entire part could just...clip out of my head. I  _ buried  _ him. I don’t even know his name.”

Nagito had known of the other werewolf. A friend of Junko’s, he believed. If his memory served him properly, his name had been Kamukura. From what he remembered of the cold and quiet man, he had been a practitioner of black magic both before and after he had been turned, turning to many unnatural ways to extend his life. He didn’t come by often, nor did he seem to particularly like anyone he spoke to. 

He couldn’t say he was particularly upset that the man had fallen at Hajime’s hands, even if he’d left one last bit of spite in the world by turning the hunter who brought him down. Exactly his sense of humor (if he had one). 

“Dark hair? Red eyes?”

“...yes.”

“I...I think I know who you encountered. Rest assured, Hajime, that you did not take a good man from the world too soon.”

“What was his name?” His voice was strained, growing weaker by the second.

“Kamukura,” he sighed. “He was an associate of Junko. And he was  _ not  _ a good man.”

“Junko again, huh?” Hajime muttered, a miserable smirk stretching across his face. “So we’re both getting fucked over by her and her friends even now, huh?”

“Is it...relieving, to know that you avenged your parents?” Hajime dropped the hand from his face, looking fairly desolately at Nagito. “I...I’m sorry, love. I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling right now.”

“Pretty shitty.” 

Nagito sighed, reaching over and kissing him on the cheek. “Don’t push yourself. Let me take care of you for the next few days or so.”

He shook his head, leaning forward. “I’ll be fine--you’ve already been taking care of me this whole time. I promise that I just need a few minutes...we can go back to sleep soon.”

“Don’t shove this back down,” he said firmly, but not unkindly. “It’ll come roaring back up later.” He knew that better than anyone. 

Hajime stood, the blanket falling from his shoulders. He took Nagito’s hand and pulled him up as well. He was upset, exhausted. And yet he gave him a small smile, one that completely reached his eyes. 

“I’m going to be alright,” he said, and he meant it. “It...it’s a lot, yeah. But my parents can rest easily. I can rest easily knowing that he’s gone. Even if I didn’t mean to at the time, I avenged them. That’s all I wanted to do, this entire time. Ever since I was a child, all I’ve wanted to do was avenge them--you know, make sure that the same thing didn’t happen to another little kid like me. I’m going to be just fine, I think.”

Nagito couldn’t help but smile back at him. He was so proud of him, for the gentleness that still showed in his face even when he was at his lowest, even when he wanted to get angry and lose control. “I’m glad to hear that, puppy.” 

He leaned in and kissed Nagito on the cheek. “Dance with me.”

“What?”

He smiled sheepishly, positioning them into a waltz. “...I don’t know. My parents used to do it a lot, even when there wasn’t any music. It just feels right. And besides, I know you’re a good dancer. I can tell.”

He shook his head, smiling softly. “And what if I am?” They fell into step, dancing on their tiptoes around the room. 

“Thank you, Nagito,” he mumbled, swaying with him to an inaudible rhythm. “I don’t know how we ended up here, but...God, I’m bad at this.” He laughed nervously, flushing. “I never expected to ever...be close with someone, like this. Because of what happened to me, I stayed away from anything romantic, you know?”

“I certainly didn’t expect for us to end up here, either.” Hajime was beautiful in the strange light of the room, his eyes shining and his heart so clearly on his sleeve. His freckles were still there, despite Nagito’s worries. He kissed him on the tip of his nose, then a small peck on his mouth. “But I’m very glad of it. I...I’m so sorry for how I treated you when we began.” 

“I’m sorry, too.” They moved in perfect sync. “We both got the worst of it out of the way right in the beginning, huh?”

“I’d sure say so,” he laughed, visibly lightening up as they went on. “These past few months haven’t been easy. But I would go through it all again if we could still end up here. And--and we’re not out of this yet--”

“Surely not.”

“But we’ll figure it out.” They shared another kiss, slower and deeper than before. “I promise that we’ll make it out of this together. I’ll protect you, too.”

So this was love, then. It was achingly familiar, almost forgotten by years and years of separation from anything close to it. And even yet, this was distinct from what he’d fostered with his family. This was a different love than he had for his mother or his niece, this was so different that it felt foreign even if welcome in his chest. He was glad his heart didn’t beat--it would be pounding wildly now, the way Hajime’s was. 

So this was love. He could drown himself in this, wanting to bottle the moment and get drunk off it for the rest of his not-quite-life. 

“Everything I’ve gone through has been worth it to meet you, Hajime Hinata.” 

He stumbled, Nagito catching him and correcting their pace. “You’ve never used my full name before.” 

He chuckled. “Unless you get yourself into some real trouble, I doubt you’ll hear it again anytime soon. It just...felt right.”

“Thank you, Nagito.” He never wanted to stop the dance. He wanted to wear patterns into the rugs where their feet were falling. This was perfect, this was bliss. 

Nagito’s memory was fallible, but this was a moment he was determined to never forget. 

“Thank you, too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, I hope you enjoyed! Please know that you are loved and I hope your day is excellent. Also, never drink a bang energy. That was a mistake I made last night. See you soon! 
> 
> -fen <3


	45. papercut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the days have blurred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys!! hope you're well! that little q&a was really fun...i'll have to start doing things like that more often! okay now yall enjoy <3

The days started to blur together sooner rather than later. The only differentiations to be found were in the weather and where they all chose to sleep for the night. Watches were done in rounds, and Ryota was never left alone. Today Tanaka watched over him with his brooding demeanor, saying little but glaring often. It was better than being patrolled by his wife, at least. He would have preferred Chiaki or Ibuki, but the former was still asleep and the latter had headed back down to gather supplies.

There wasn’t often much to do in an empty castle. Ryota wandered through the halls under close supervision, walking around through corridors and rooms that he didn’t know any better than the rest of them. He and Gundham had taken to quiet, tense coexistence in the study. He couldn’t help but feel bad when he took the books off the shelf, but there was nothing better to do than read. 

There were years worth of diaries hidden in the study. Ryota knew they were there, but not where they were hidden. He wasn’t looking for them--should Tanaka know they existed, he would likely immediately go to look for them. 

So Ryota sat down with what looked like a scientific textbook, Gundham taking a book with sigils embossed into the cover. He sat behind the desk, setting his boots up on it. He grimaced but said nothing to stop it. 

He just stared at the textbook, looking over the anatomical diagrams without processing them. Eyes and ears and chests and more were disassembled in front of him on the page, neatly taken apart and labeled. There were more parts of the eye, hidden behind skin and bone and muscle that he didn’t want to see.

So many little things made up their bodies. So many tiny bones and tendons and ligaments, wrapped in cells and tissue and skin that opened up far too easily under hands and knives and everything in between. 

Tanaka seemed engrossed within moments of opening the book. He pored over the pages, flipping back and forth through them, poring over diagrams and incantations. 

Komaeda would come back. There was no way he wouldn’t come back. This was his home, one he was often quite protective of. He would take great offense to the shoes on his desk or the way his books were being thumbed through without his permission. People were rooting through his kitchen, ruining his perfect organization of his spices and foods, Ibuki happily breaking out his best tea without a second thought. (God, he was going to be upset about that.)

They found the wine bottles that smelled like iron. Noted the color and texture of their contents and left them be. Sonia had half a mind to smash them, but Chiaki stopped her fairly quickly.

“We should leave those be. It’d be a nightmare to clean it up--you’re only making more trouble for yourself.”

Sonia had sighed and put the glass bottle back on the rack. “You are correct. The momentary revenge would not be worth it, would it?”   
  


“No.”

There was actual wine hidden among the stores of blood. Ryota had half a mind to point it out, just so everyone could calm  _ down  _ for a little while. But somehow, he just knew that it would make everything that much worse when they sobered up. A drink or two to get to sleep seemed like a nice break for him. If someone turned around for a second, maybe he’d slip off to pour himself a glass.

Unlikely. Nobody would let him more than an arm’s length away, everyone had their eyes on him at all times. 

He was someone who’d always felt invisible. Ryota could walk into the room and people wouldn’t notice. It was such a disturbing inverse, now, that he was kept on some sort of tether. 

(He could only imagine how Hajime had felt.) Someday he could hopefully vanish back into a quiet life, one where he was left alone and could make his books. That wouldn’t come any time soon. Any silence and alone time he got would be the result of avoidance, shunning by his community. It wouldn’t be voluntary. 

“Anything interesting in there?” he asked nervously to Tanaka, flipping to a diagram of the bones of the hand. (There were so many more than he could have imagined--how could there be so many?) 

“Absolutely, yes,” he rumbled, setting down the book with a thud. “You will surely not understand it--but you may look regardless.” He was kinder than his wife, softer on Ryota. They were all softer than Sonia. She took the harshest route by far. It was out of necessity, he knew it was. She was the leader, she had to be unbreakable. So he...couldn’t hold it to her too harshly. But he couldn’t deny that he was bitter. A bit angry. His shoulders stiffened whenever she was in the room, his words a bit more clipped with her, no matter how he felt. But it was completely drowned out by the sea of guilt. It was eating him alive, destroying his already too-small appetite and keeping him awake for hours at night.

But Hajime and Komaeda had reunited. (So was it alright, now? Or was it worse, that they had been forced into hiding, probably living together somewhere far less than ideal?) 

He stood up and walked over, taking a look over the circles and pentagrams and beautiful writing in a language he’d never seen. These were incantations he’d never possibly be able to understand, never quite wanted to understand. 

“What is all this?” he breathed, leaning over his shoulder. The inks were vibrant and richly colored, the binding perfect and pristine despite the clear age of the book. There was only faint fading on the pages, clear indicators of use and love.

“Binding spells.” His voice was awed and glorious, his eyes sparkling as he turned page after page. Spells. Incantations. Alchemical symbols and circles, languages that he’d never seen before. “These are incredibly powerful--used to bind monsters. Sending them back to hell.”

“I didn’t know there were so many ways to do it.”

“None of these would work to send our vampire back--it would make sense that the creature would not hide the tools of his own demise in his study.”

The room rattled. 

They went dead quiet, Tanaka snapping the book shut. He sprang to his feet in an instant, grabbing Ryota by the wrist and pulling him to his side. The knife appeared in his hand, slipping out from his sleeve. He wondered if his scarf would hinder him if he fought. 

“What w-was that?” he asked nervously, staying embarrassingly close to Tanaka. (Well, he  _ was  _ unarmed.) There were a few possibilities as to what the movement could have been, and he didn’t want to see anything that his mind conjured. 

“We shall soon be made enlightened, I am sure.” They stood behind the desk, watching the flames of the candles flicker. 

There was a tapestry on the wall. An old, pretty thing made of heavy red yarn, faded with age. 

It moved. 

_ “Come out,”  _ Tanaka snarled, his low bass feeling like it would shake the walls. “Whatever you are, whoever you are, come  _ out.”  _

“I saw you put your feet on my desk,” Komaeda said coolly, stepping out fluidly from the tapestry, the stone door sliding shut behind him as he went. “Don’t you think that’s a little bit rude?” 

White shirt. Blue waistcoat. A key slung on a pendant around his neck. Red brooch pinned at his throat. Eyes burning crimson. Silver sword in his hand. “Please step away from my books--you’ll ruin the organization of my library.” 

It was terrifying, when that raging gaze turned on him. “Good evening, Ryota.” 

He hadn’t even noticed that the sun had gone down. 

  
  


-

He had wanted to wait longer. It felt too soon to come back--he was reluctant to break from the syrupy dream of the past few days. Every moment between them had been quiet, peaceful bliss. They didn’t want it to end. But to live quietly in the cabin, while it seemed perfect, would have been a lie. There were people looking for them, crawling over his home. Waiting for him to come. It was unfair to the home he cherished to let it be overrun--it was unfair to Hajime just to keep hiding.

“I’ll be back tonight hopefully, love.” Hajime was still in bed, half-awake and grabbing onto a pillow to fill the space Nagito had vacated. “I’m going to scope things out back home.”

“Alright…” he mumbled, rolling onto his side. His hair was an absolute mess, all tousled and spiked up. “...be safe. ‘Ll make us soup.” 

“I look forward to it.” He buttoned up his waistcoat, tucking the skeleton key to the passages underneath it (so it wouldn’t fly off while he rode). “Hopefully you’re better at cooking than teamaking.”

“Shush.” His groggy voice further softened--he was falling back asleep already. “See you...tonight.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.” His breathing slowed, and within a minute he was gone. Nagito doubted he would remember his promise to make them dinner, but that was fine by him. He needed the rest. It was reassuring to see him sleep so well, watching the circles slowly begin to fade under his eyes. There was color starting to return to his face. 

The horse was happily living in his small stable. It had spent the days resting, and knew the way back up to the castle by memory. Nagito didn’t even have to direct it anymore--it always knew the way. 

And so they rode up quickly and quietly, the wind rustling his hair as he went home. There were barely any leaves on the trees anymore, so the sky was nearly unblocked by the branches. The stars were brilliant, still starting to come into the sky. The sun had only just set, the sky still darkening. It was beautiful. But he didn’t have the time to stop and stare. 

There were horses tied outside the castle. There were lights on that he could see through the window. Shadows slipped around, voices rumbling out of his earshot. His grip tightened on his reins. It was a test to not immediately reach for his sword.

He tsked and stabled his horse, giving him a pat and a sugar cube. “I’ll come back for you soon. Be good.”

And into the passages he went. He didn’t need torches or light--he could see just fine. He knew these corridors and halls like the back of his hand; finding the door to his study was no challenge. He stopped and heard the voices as he began to go up the stairs. 

A low rumble. Someone far more familiar. Ryota--they’d brought Ryota with them. Of course they had. (Had he and Hajime been able to talk? He had never mentioned it, so Nagito doubted it.) So he got quieter, crept closer.

Watched his niece’s husband slam his feet onto the desk that was older than everyone in the room. His grip tightened on the sword. It was so unbelievably rude--and for what? Just because they were at odds, they disrespected his home and made it their own?

And so when he closed the passage door and let the room rumble, he didn’t feel bad at all. This wasn’t going to end well. But when had anything ever ended well for him? Perhaps he’d get a civil discussion out of this. Unlikely. Either way, something had to give. He wasn’t going to play hide and seek with humans any longer. 

So he stepped out, sword in hand. “I saw you put your feet on my desk. Don’t you think that’s a bit rude?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i hope you enjoyed. please remember how loved and important you are. see you soon!
> 
> -fen <3


	46. silver tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hopefully nobody gets stabbed this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay guys i've really been thinking about fruit lately. maybe it's because it's the middle of winter and i'm stuck in my dorm and i've been making too many nutella sandwiches, but i'd probably trade my firstborn for a bucket of fresh strawberries right now.

Nagito stared them down. His hands didn’t shake, his eyes didn’t leave Ryota or Sonia’s husband. “So...it seems we’re at an impasse. We have been for some time.”

“I will  _ not  _ ask you again.  _ Where is Hajime?”  _ he demanded, the flowery language slowly dropping as his anger grew. “Where have you hidden him?”

“You’ll find that he’s quite alright.” Blades stayed drawn. “I’ve done nothing to him. I’m wounded that you think I would.”

The air of the room was tense and awful. This was his study, his quiet, safe place. Nobody came in here. This was where he came to work quietly, to play his violin. This was a space he didn’t often let others into. And it had been entirely invaded by people who didn’t belong there, people who disrespected his things without even thinking about it.

There was mud on his desk.

“We have no desire to play at niceties with you,” he snarled. Ryota was still stuck in his place, his terror plain in his face. Perhaps luck was on his side, this time. Ryota surely wasn’t brave enough to work against him twice, at least not without significant encouragement. He was also desperately conflict avoidant--if he ran, it was probable that he wouldn’t return with anyone. He’d hide. Unless, of course, he was threatened.

“And I don’t particularly want to talk it out either. But that wouldn’t be very fair to Hajime, would it? He does care for all of you quite deeply; I promised him I wouldn’t hurt any of you unless I had to.” He didn’t sheath his sword, though.

Ryota, seemingly finding a smidgen on his courage, took a step back from the two of them. Then another. And another. 

“Are you going somewhere?” The shorter man gulped, shaking his head. He pressed his back against the wall.

Sonia’s husband whipped his head back to him. “Go find someone. It does  _ not  _ matter who. We do not need to face this threat alone.” Ryota stayed paralyzed, shaking his head furiously as the blood drained from his face. He didn’t want to go anywhere, didn’t dare tempt Nagito’s wrath a second time. It was a useless worry--he wouldn’t hold it against him for simply doing as he was told. The villagers would likely be--had likely already  _ been _ \--harsher on him then he was ever going to be. 

“I’m afraid I never caught your name,” Nagito said, dropping the tip of his blade ever so slightly. This wasn’t going to be a fight if he could help it. “I’m not a threat to you. I never have been.”

“Tanaka.” His voice was clipped, irritated. “Mitarai. Conquer your cowardice and  _ go.” _

“Go find someone,” Nagito agreed. “I came here to check if it was safe to come home. But if you are all here...I might as well take the time to try and have a civil conversation with all of you. Provided you don’t try and attack me. Sheath your blade, and I sheath mine.”

Ryota sprinted from the room without another word. Neither Tanaka nor Nagito sheathed their blades. 

“How can I trust such a fell thing to beholden himself to his word?” 

Nagito sighed and slipped his sword back into its sheath. “None of you have seen any of my efforts. Of course, I’ve been living outside your knowledge for quite some time...but it’s been my job to watch your borders. Keep out whatever I can--make your lives safer.”

“Hajime still--”

“I cannot catch  _ everything _ ,” he said, waving a hand and sitting down in his own chair, steepling his fingers and staring up at a befuddled Tanaka, his casual disarming of himself clearly confusing the other. He would be able to defend himself without it, but it was a gesture of goodwill to leave the weapon put away. So many of the problems and misunderstandings had come from theatrics, fancy words and playing at a side of him that didn’t quite exist. Plain words and rational thought--that would get them out of this. Hajime deserved his best. This endless feud was bound to tear him to shreds if it wasn’t resolved. “Hajime and others have done quite a fine job of catching what I miss. But these are my lands to watch over.”

“You say that as if there are others like you.” His knife lowered just slightly.

“Ah, yes. There are others,” he drawled, watching intently as he sheathed his knife and moving to take a stiff seat across the desk. “Thank you for your civility. We all do try to exist quietly, you know.”

He crossed his arms, seeming apprehensive but far more open to listening to what he had to say than Sonia had been. “Then why take one of our own hostage? If your aim truly is to live outside of our sight--why place yourself directly in the center of a target? I must confess, it does not make much sense.”

He shrugged. “There is no use for me to lie to any of you. I grew up in Jabberwock; I lived with a group of people far less kind than any of you. I fully expected Hajime to be killed if found out. Or the very least, outcasted.”

“Then why  _ reveal  _ his affliction--”

Nagito held up a hand to silence him. “You came to his rescue at the worst possible time. I didn’t keep him on that leash every waking moment. Undoubtedly, I made...mistakes,” he admitted, cringing just slightly. “But in that moment, it was to keep him under control once he turned. He understood the necessity of it.”

“You have yet to reveal a reason why he would be so loyal to you.” Tanaka’s eyes burned, the bass and vigor of his voice adding a deep sense of conviction to every word he spoke. 

“That is because I do not want to speak on his behalf more than I already have.  _ If  _ you and your associates...if your  _ wife  _ will behave and speak with me civilly, I will bring you to him. I find that I am quite tired of all the yelling and I would rather avoid being stabbed again.”

“Hajime was bitten by you. We have no reason to think--”

“Have you listened to a word he’s said? This entire time?” he pressed, leaning forward and staring directly at Tanaka. The anger was burning and building in his empty chest. He’d  _ seen  _ it with his own eyes--how they’d completely disregarded what he had desperately said to any of them. “Undoubtedly I’m grateful that none of you, as far he’s told me, have treated him as less than a human--he doesn’t deserve that. However, I’ve witnessed the way you completely  _ ignored  _ what he was telling you. You seem like a smart man. You certainly know the ways of the occult. I would expect you to know that being bitten only once has no binding magicks to it. Nothing sets in until that second bite--and I’m  _ wounded  _ you think that I would do that to someone else.”

“Beast--”

“I am not done speaking.” In another frame of mind, he would be cringing at how often he kept cutting the man off. But right now? He didn’t care. “How  _ many  _ bite marks are there on Hajime? Yes--feeding on him was a mistake. It was  _ not  _ something I should have done. It was an action taken out of anger that I regret every day.”

“And yet, you admit to having done it.” The door to the study remained open. Nobody had come by since Ryota had left. The air of civility stayed, but he was still on edge.   
  


He nodded stiffly. “If we are to figure out this mess, honesty is required from both sides. I refuse to hide the mistakes I made. Why in the world would I cover up the truth? This isn’t about us, Tanaka. This isn’t about you, or me, or my niece, or Ryota. This is about him. I want him to be safe. I want him to be happy. Wether this is with or without me, I will accept it.”

“So why did you come back?”

“Because he was saying that he  _ didn’t want to leave _ , Tanaka,” he said wearily, his anger fading as he slumped back in his chair. A misunderstanding. This had all been a huge, ugly misunderstanding and nobody had come out unscathed. “I want him to be where he wants to be. And...yes. My initial keeping of him was not what he wanted. But he was injured to the point of being unable to walk, and I didn’t want to turn him loose on a town that didn’t know something had bitten him. It was my intention to help him control that wolf form. It still is, if I am permitted to by him.”

Tanaka seemed to be softening, if still distrustful. “You speak quite eloquently. I cannot deny that your explanations make sense. I...have not had much time to speak with my wife, and her mind is quite set on her answer. But I will admit...Hajime has not been quite treated fairly by us.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgment. “I do not want to keep up this war between us.”

Footsteps began to sound down the hallway. Three sets of them, to be exact. 

It was his niece first, followed closely by Ryota and Chiaki. Nagito’s hand instinctively went to his sword under the desk--he wasn’t getting anywhere near her. 

“ _ You,”  _ she snarled, more than ready to lunge at him. She had the knife gripped so tightly in her hand that her knuckles were white. “Where  _ is  _ he.”

“Hello, neice,” he said carefully, feeling a twinge of gratefulness when Tanaka jumped to his feet and went to her side. “It’s been a few days. Are you planning on stabbing me with that again?”

“That depends entirely on you, uncle.”

He took another look at the knife. A little closer look than before. Some gears started to turn in his head, old memories resurfacing very suddenly. 

“That knife of yours. It wouldn’t happen to be a family heirloom, would it?” he asked slowly, calmly, lounging in his chair, throwing a leg over the armrest. “I have to say that it looks rather familiar.”

“And what if it is?” she asked coldly, crossing her arms. That blade, that handle. It looked so familiar. So,  _ so  _ familiar. 

If his memory served him, Sonia wasn’t the first person to stab him with that knife. 

His poor, dear, dead uncle had tried the same thing. 

_ Monster.  _ **_Monster._ ** _ You’re supposed to be  _ **_dead._ **

It was only one of the many reasons Nagito had bled him dry and never once regretted it. His cousin got to live happily with a family of people who didn’t give themselves to drink, have playmates her age who weren’t bedbound. She grew up happy. He had made sure she’d grown up happy.

“I think it would be a bit funny if it was,” he said easily. “I have a question for you, actually. Do you know the history behind that knife?” If she didn’t--she didn’t. Nobody did. He cleaned it and put it back in its place, and nobody had ever known who’d been attacked with it.

“Stop changing the subject.”

“Darling--” Gundham murmured, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve been speaking with him. The creature has been quite honest thus far, as I can tell. Please...let us practice civility, even if only for a few moments.”

“Fine. It’s not as if it matters, anyway.” Nagito smiled lazily up at them both, hiding a growing apprehension the longer they were all penned into his study. His posture was stiff and awkward, the tension overcoming every part of his body. “Everyone, find a place to sit. I would hate for you to be uncomfortable.”

“This is not a  _ social call.” _ She scowled, didn’t lower her knife. Didn’t take a seat. _   
  
_

“No, it certainly isn’t. This is a discussion. I am  _ not  _ tolerating any more violence on my grounds,” he said sternly. “Whether it be towards me or anyone else. I am  _ done fighting with you.”  _ The anger was coming back, building up and about to boil over.

His hands balled into fists.

“I most certainly am  _ not--”  _

He quickly rose to his feet, slamming his hands onto the desk. His eyes felt filled with blood--spreading from pupil to iris until every part of his eyes were the same shade of red. For just a moment, the anger slipped out, his fangs flashing in the firelight. From the right angle, they looked almost red. _   
  
_

_ “SONIA NEVERMIND, SIT  _ **_DOWN_ ** _.”  _

His voice echoed throughout the room, reverberating off the stone walls. She stopped dead in her tracks, the knife dropping from her hand. It clattered loudly on the floor.

And she sat down, stiff as a board. 

It was quiet for a long time. 

“...thank you.” He retook his seat, taking a deep breath to calm down. Even without the need to breathe, it still leveled his head. “I am tired of all this bickering. We need to come to a conclusion, don’t we?”

Sonia took her own deep breath. He noticed the shake to it. (He hadn’t meant to scare her. But he couldn’t quite find it in himself to feel bad.) “Where is Hajime?”

“Provided that you  _ behave yourself _ , I will take you down to him.” He folded his hands on his desk. “Based on what he’s told me, and based on the things I’ve seen with my  _ own  _ eyes, I am reluctant to let you come near him, niece.”

Chiaki sat quietly. Ryota sat rigidly upright in his chair. Tanaka sat next to his wife, holding her hand gently.

“You know what you did,” she said softly, but not weakly. Never weakly. There was nothing weak about her. He respected her immensely, of course he did. “You know what you did to him.”

“I know what you  _ think  _ I did to him. Are you surely so certain of yourself that you’d speak over Hajime himself?” He tapped his fingers together, his gaze passing over the others in the room. “Are you believing my niece over the people who were actually there?”

Chiaki slumped into herself, gripped her skirt. “Komaeda…” Sonia looked at her, the nervousness just barely lighting up behind her eyes. 

“I believe you,” she said plainly, and everything in Nagito’s mind crashed together in an instant.

She believed him. 

The one who had seen the worst of it all believed him. 

“Thank you.” There wasn’t much more he could say.

Sonia’s breath caught. “I...Chiaki?”

“I’m sorry, Sonia. I believe him.” 

“I’m afraid he is very convincing, my moon,” Tanaka said, squeezing her hand. “I would like to speak to Hajime...the hunter deserves to have his voice heard.”

“Gundham--Chiaki.” Sonia stood to her feet, standing at the opposite side of his desk. “Komaeda. Uncle. Take us to him.  _ I  _ am the one you must convince. Not anyone else.”

“That’s quite a lofty opinion of yourself.”    
  


She leaned down. “All I have tried to do is to  _ help  _ him,” she hissed under her breath. “There is  _ nothing  _ you can say that will change my mind.”   
  


“Then I will leave it to him--I have done my best.” They stared each other down. He couldn’t help but smirk. It was all he could do to keep masking everything underneath, the roiling sea that made him curdle at the idea of putting her anywhere near Hajime. But there was no other way to solve this. Things had to be cleared up here and now or they absolutely never would be. There would be no more violence. Hajime wouldn't be torn away and passed back and forth like a toy jealous children were fighting over. This had to be finished, this had to be dealt with. Here, and now. “Do promise you’ll listen to what he has to say. Otherwise you aren’t going  _ anywhere _ .”

“We will see about that. Take us to him.”

He sighed.  _ I’m sorry, Hajime. I promise I’ll protect you through this. _

He nodded and clapped his hands together. “Very well! Let’s be off.”

_ I’ll protect you.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i hope you enjoyed! please know that you are loved and make sure to take care of yourself. if you're in school, finish at least one assignment (i believe in you!). have the best day you can!
> 
> -fen <3


	47. tearstains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the final confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this all in one sitting today and my neck hurts so much guys also holy shit we only have one chapter after thid left wtf

Sonia felt stiff as a board. She and the others followed Komaeda silently through the castle, his shoulders squared and his own face set. He had his hands clasped behind his back, the gloves on his hands seemingly creaseless and perfectly, spotlessly white. Everything about him seemed  _ clean. _ He was composed in a way she always strove to be, even when he roared and it made her knees want to collapse in on themselves. The red had faded from his eyes, now--just the same light watercolor painted blue-green of her eyes. A family trait.

She didn’t like that they shared any sort of resemblance, but if she was honest with herself, there were more than a few common traits. If there was a pallor to his skin, she was sure it would be almost identical to her skin tone. The cut of their jaws would line up perfectly next to each other. If they switched clothes, she would probably fit into his clothes just fine.

It made her more uncomfortable than she would have liked to admit. 

Nobody was talking, nor did they want to talk. Chiaki was walking next to Ryota, a hand on his shoulder. The man looked like a walking corpse, his eyes bulging out of his head and all the blood having long since drained from his face. Gundham was beside her, holding her hand tightly. He had the knife.

_ I do ask that she is relieved of her weapons. I would rather not be stabbed once I turn my back. _

She knew that it was only a precaution and quite a logical one, at that, but she didn’t trust it. If he was true to his word (which she wasn’t sure of, because trusting him meant that she had been wrong all along. If she had been wrong all along, she’d caused so much pain for naught. So she  _ couldn’t  _ be wrong.), he was only trying to keep himself and perhaps Hajime safe--though she would never raise a blade against her friend. If he was lying and leading them into a trap, he wanted  _ her  _ to be unarmed specifically. Perhaps she was to be the next target of his. 

There was still a stake hidden under her skirt. She would protect herself if she had to. She would protect everyone if she had to. That was her job, after all. She’d taken up that role when she had become the mayor four years ago. She was only doing her job. 

And so they walked down the halls, Komaeda quite patiently waiting for them to grab their cloaks and furs to stay warm on the night journey ahead of them. Ibuki had left her hat behind--hopefully she didn’t return before they got back. If they got back. This felt like it could so easily be a trap. But everyone else believed him. Even Gundham believed him.

It cast a seed of doubt in her mind that she couldn’t quite shake. But no. No matter how she felt, she had to keep that strong front. Sonia didn’t have weaknesses. She couldn’t afford to have weaknesses. Her people came first, before anything she might think or feel. And right now, Hajime’s safety came first. He would come home and stay home and heal. 

Everyone seemed to want to give Komaeda a chance, a bit of redemption that maybe he wasn’t as bad as he seemed. But the way he’d shoved Hajime off him played on loop in her mind. The way he laid possessive kisses all over him while all they could do was watch, as if he was telling them he’d won without saying a single word. Had they all forgotten how  _ scared  _ Hajime had been? Had they all forgotten the collar around his neck? The bites that landed right above where the leash rested? The shadows under his eyes and the paleness of his face and how his freckles were almost entirely gone?

She’d seen those ugly, ropy scars on his leg. How did they all believe Komaeda so easily? Just because his explanation  _ seemed  _ reasonable wasn’t enough for her. It would never be enough for her, because she saw how scared Hajime was whenever he was nearby. He never told anyone when he was scared. He was always the first to put on a brave face and tell everyone that it was going to be alright--when Mikan was busy it often fell to him to bandage up the children’s scraped knees and wipe their tears, telling them silly stories to make them feel better. He got just as scared as everyone else, and he’d never shown it. 

So seeing that utter terror in his eyes left her speechless. Seeing him having to hide that he was  _ crying  _ left her shocked to her core. He needed to get out of Komaeda’s grip. And if the vampire himself would lead her there, so be it. He would be the instrument of his own undoing and the indisputable proof that she had been  _ right all along.  _ He would be alright. He just needed to be taken back and Komaeda needed to be dealt with once and for all. 

If she had to do it, so be it. Regret could come later, second-guessing herself could come later. It was now or never, and she wasn’t about to back down. 

Gundham smoothed her cloak down, giving her a reassuring kiss on the corner of her mouth. “Please be cautious, my flower. Do not make any rash decisions. The way will be made clear to us.”

She gave him a smile that felt forced. “I promise, darling.”

He gave her a skeptical look, before enveloping her in a hug. He ran his fingers through her hair, kissing her on the top of her head. “You have been putting yourself through unimaginable ordeals, love. Please try not to push yourself too far.”

“I will not.”

He gave her a smile of his own, then, wrapping his scarf around her. “Let us be off, then. Our hunter awaits us.”

Komaeda nodded silently when they came back, buttoning up a black coat over his clothes. The perfect white gloves were exchanged for black leather riding gloves, the previous pair tucked neatly into a pocket. No matter how much she suspected and disliked him, she had to admit that he knew how to dress. 

“The trip takes about three hours. If you have anything to attend to, do it now, please. I would rather not have to take any breaks. Our time is rather limited, after all, and my cabin isn’t suited for holding six people.” None of them seemed to have anything they needed to do. So outside they went, the wind chilling their bones. It wasn’t as wild as it could have been, the waxing moon shining down on them as if it had something it wanted to say. But as the moon often was, it stayed quite silent.

Komaeda’s steed was even more majestic up close--it was almost as pale as he was, bigger than the rest of their horses. Calm, too. They all mounted, nervousness growing like an explosion of weeds in her gut. 

“Keep up. I will not wait for any of you if you fall behind--and it’s a rather cold night to get lost.” 

And off they went, traveling at a brisk pace on a path none of them would have noticed had they not been led down it. It looked like nothing more than a deer path, but perhaps that was what it was. 

The cold made her fingers numb, but she barely noticed. She was following Komaeda down the mountain, through the forest, her body practically working on its own as she got lost in her own thoughts. 

It had been perhaps a week since Hajime had been taken again (left? No.  _ No.  _ She couldn’t entertain those thoughts. She wasn’t wrong. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Sonia  _ couldn’t  _ do anything wrong. Not because she was perfect--by no means was she perfect--but simply because she wasn’t allowed to do anything wrong. While she wasn’t perfect, she had to be as close as humanly possible. There was no room for error when she was running the entire town. There was no room for error when one of her citizens--one of her  _ friends  _ was under a vampire’s spell and she was apparently the only one who could see it.), and she hadn’t slept since that night. 

Nobody had listened to him, Hajime had said. Nobody believed him. Of...of course she couldn’t believe him! It was so antithetical to everything about him, that he would stay with and love and defend a vampire...a  _ monster.  _

_ Bring me a vampire head.  _

And yet--and  _ yet.  _ He was a monster in his own right, wasn’t he, now? Some cursed werewolf had bitten him and he’d been none the wiser until it was too late and he was gone. Yes...she could see the logic there. She could understand why Komaeda would keep him up there, if it really was just to protect them. It made sense, and she didn’t want it to make sense. 

But if that was all it was, why was Hajime so  _ scared  _ when Nagito was there? Why did he always seem so close to breaking that a strong gust of wind could snap him in two? Good God, it just wasn’t adding up. And if this was to figure things out once and for all, as Komaeda said it was, she would do just that. She wasn’t going to let  _ anyone  _ get in her way. Whatever the truth was, she would find it and whatever spell Hajime was under, she would find a way to break it. 

And so she rode behind her uncle and let the wind freeze her eyelashes and make her teeth chatter, not uttering a single word of complaint. Winter was almost here. And she would not leave Hajime to be at the mercy of a vampire during it. 

Nobody talked--either they were too cold, or too focused on following Komaeda’s swift pace. He wasn’t going ridiculously fast, but he certainly didn’t leave them any room to dally. He didn’t so much as look back as he rode, either trusting them to follow or not caring whether they could keep up or not. Of course he wouldn’t need to stop for food or water breaks--he wasn’t human. And he wasn’t going to give them the luxury of those either. 

This was a part of the forest she didn’t recognize at all--she’d lived in Jabberwock her whole life, taken many forays into the massive woods that covered the sloping mountainside. But until recently, she’d never gone as high up as the castle, certainly never taken an alternate route down from it.

It was lovely and quiet, even for as cold as it was. No animals bothered them, only a few pairs of eyes watching from behind trees and bushes as they passed. The trees had been stripped bare, the dead leaves swirling around their feet and flying past their ears as they rode. In any other season, this place would be even more breathtaking. She would have spent all day just taking a slow ride though, appreciating all there was to see and admire off the well-trodden routes. 

But this was no time to appreciate the scenery. The moon hung high above them in the sky--it had to be almost midnight by now. They’d been riding steadily for a while now; Hajime had to be close. He had to be. She could only imagine the straits he must have been in--that collar had to be back around his neck, the shadows heavy under his eyes. There was nothing good waiting for them, she was sure. (Was she?) 

The weeds of nervousness kept growing in her gut, exploding out and wrapping thorny vines around her chest, her lungs, her heart. Her breaths already felt strangled enough, like the vines were gouging their spikes into her throat, tightly encircling it until she was coated red all over from the pricks and cuts and gashes. Soon the weeds would morph and grow into a monster of its own, big enough to swallow her whole. 

But she beat them back for now, forcing herself to stare ahead at Komaeda’s back. His pace slowed to a stop and he looked back, waiting for all of them to stop as well. 

“We will arrive in a few minutes. The cabin is a straight shot from here. I am going to go in first and tell him what’s going on--”

Sonia spurred her horse into a gallop, shooting past him to get there first. A few minutes, a straight shot from here. She’d get to him first, before Komaeda could further poison his mind. Nobody else would be there except the two of them. She could investigate by herself and figure out what had  _ actually  _ happened to him, and do it as quickly as possible. 

But the beating hooves reached her ears sooner rather than later. She dared to whip her head back for just a moment--Komaeda. He was gaining on her, pushing his horse to catch up. No.  _ No.  _ She would  _ not  _ let him get in the way  _ any longer.  _

And so she kept riding, spurring her horse on faster and faster until a small cabin grew larger in her vision. Smoke poured out of a chimney, the lights shining inside. A small stable sat next to the house, just big enough to fit all of their horses. She skidded to a stop, not even bothering to tie her horse up as she raced for the door. 

Hajime.  _ Hajime. This is all my fault. I never should have sent you away. I never should have let him take you back. Everything that happened to you is because of me. Let me make it right. Please, PLEASE let me make it right. Let me save you, this time.  _

Her eyes were wet when her hand slammed into the doorknob, frantically turning it. 

She slammed it open, eyes roving desperately for brown hair and a pair of green eyes.  _ What was she going to find, what was she going to find, if he was hurt--what if he was hurt again?  _

“Nagito?” It came from over there, from what might have been the kitchen. He didn’t  _ sound  _ scared, but God, who knew how he was feeling, with Komaeda having his mind in his hands? “You’re back early.” A figure walked out-- _ Hajime.  _ Flour in his hair, dough on his hands, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. No collar, no chain. No injuries. If anything, he looked  _ healthier;  _ there was a flush to his skin and he was standing tall. There was light in his eyes. “I haven’t finished making--” 

And then he saw her. He fell silent in an instant, stumbling backwards as the color rushed from his face. Something filled his eyes and it wasn’t happiness. It wasn’t relief, it wasn’t joy that he was about to be saved. 

It was just him and her, and he looked  _ terrified _ . “S...Sonia? What are you doing here? Where’s Nagito--where  _ is he?”  _ His breath visibly picked up as he looked over her shoulder for him. There were hooves brushing the ground outside, footsteps rushing to the door. “Sonia...please. No. Don’t say you  _ hurt  _ him--”

“Hajime, we have no time to waste,” she said breathlessly, beginning to walk towards him. He jumped back into the kitchen, his hands pressed against the floured counter. There was so much fear in his face, so much horror in his eyes. He wasn’t going to fight her. They weren’t going to fight each other. But why did he look so skittish--so jumpy, as if she was going to attack him? She’d done nothing of the kind ever, she’d never given him a reason to think she would. 

So why did he jump back from her?  _ Why was he so scared? _

Komaeda skidded in through the door, slamming it open against the wall. The mugs on the table and the art on the wall rattled for the force of it; she barely had time to so much as process it before Hajime had shoved past her and ran to him. She barely missed hitting the doorframe as Komaeda swept him up and held him close, checking over him as quickly as possibly could. They held each other as tight as they possibly could, sharing a quick kiss that made her stomach curdle. This was  _ wrong. _

“Nagito--are you alright?” he asked frantically, taking the vampire's face in rough hands. “Did you get hurt? Did she force you to bring her here?  _ Please  _ say you’re alright.”

“I’m perfectly alright, love,” he said softly, so tenderly that it made her heart  _ ache,  _ and something in her just _ collapsed  _ when she saw the pure, utter  _ relief  _ in Hajime’s face. It was the same look when he saw someone walking around again after they’d fallen deathly ill. It was the same look he’d had at Sonia and Gundham’s wedding, when they’d finally,  _ finally  _ been able to get married after years of protests from both families. Relief. Utter, pure, unadulterated relief that couldn’t be faked no matter what spell he was or wasn’t under. That was Hajime, through and through. And he was completely and  _ utterly  _ relieved to see Komaeda.

“Hajime--Hajime,” she said desperately. “ _ Please.  _ You...please. You--do you have any idea what you are  _ doing  _ to yourself?” Her voice cracked. “Come home. Let us  _ help  _ you come back to yourself! You….you cannot…”

But when he turned back to her…

Terror. Utter, complete terror filled his face. He gripped Komaeda tighter and Komaeda gripped him. 

He wasn’t scared of the vampire. He’d never been scared of him.

Hajime was afraid of  _ her _ . 

Komaeda wasn’t keeping him captive and close just to make sure nobody else could touch him, when he had Hajime in his arms. No, he was  _ protecting  _ him. From her. 

From  _ her. _

“I told you I wasn’t leaving him, Sonia,” he said softly. Not weakly. There was presence of mind. He knew exactly what he was saying. He’d always known exactly what he was saying and doing. And the only person who’d ended up completely, willfully blind to it was  _ her.  _ “I told you, over and over, that I knew what I was doing, and you didn’t  _ listen  _ to me.” His voice shook, but it wasn’t just fear. No.

Hajime was angry. 

“Do you really expect me to leave again? When you stabbed him--took me home when I was  _ begging  _ you to do anything else? I told you I  _ wasn’t ready  _ and you grabbed me regardless--even when I was fighting you, you wouldn’t  _ stop!” _

Everyone else skidded in through the doorway, stricken silent by Hajime’s growing tone and the terror in his face that was morphing to something else entirely. His hand was fisted in Komaeda’s jacket as the vampire held him close, saying nothing. Letting Hajime speak. 

“You-- _ none of you.  _ None of you let me make my own choices. None of you trusted me enough to make the best decision for myself? Really?” 

His voice weakened. His posture slumped, and if Komaeda hadn’t been holding him, it was likely he would have collapsed to the floor. It was all Sonia could do to keep on her own feet, her knees shaking under his tired, scared, angry gaze. 

“None of you trusted me to think for myself. I love all of you--really, I do. You’re my friends...my family, you know? But to think that you couldn’t put even a  _ little  _ bit of trust in me? Do you know how much that hurt, Sonia?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. He shook his head, his eyes shining. 

“You didn’t trust me to think for myself. At all. You assumed you had the answers with nothing but a single, scripted moment--something we had to do to keep you all  _ safe.  _ How many people could I have hurt, if I wasn’t up there?”

“H-Hajime, I--”

“I’m not done speaking. It’s your turn to be quiet for a  _ goddamn minute _ .” 

“It’s alright, love,” Komaeda mumbled in his ear. “Speak your mind, but don’t lose your temper on her.” 

He bristled for a moment before taking a deep breath. “I come home and I can’t talk. You used that against me. Why--Sonia, you  _ know  _ I can’t control that. Why did you use that against me?” 

She couldn’t bear to look at him, covering her mouth with a hand and staring at the couch to her left. It was all she could do just to keep her composure. Perfect. She had to pretend to be perfect, and it hadn’t worked. 

She had been wrong. She had been wrong the whole time, and she’d been so  _ blinded  _ by her need to show up for everyone else and present a strong front that she’d destroyed the person she was trying to help. She’d convinced herself that she was right, despite all the evidence to the contrary. She’d refused any other answer, because nothing had been worse than being wrong, right? If being wrong meant being fair and kind to the man she cared for like a family member, why hadn’t she taken the option? 

Why had she resorted to violence and anger? She knew she had her reasons to be upset and nervous and to not trust Hajime’s account. But she had shoved aside and ignored everything that could have disproved her. She’d acted out of fear and anger and weaponized his own response to what she’d done.

And now they were here, and Hajime was afraid of her.

What had she  _ done _ ?

“Sonia…” his voice softened, and he looked away, catching Chiaki’s eyes. “I know you were just trying to help. But it didn’t need to go this far. If you had just given me a chance to talk...we wouldn’t have to be going through this. I’m not coming home. I’m not ready to come home. But I’m not...I’m not abandoning you all. Just because things turned out...oddly, doesn’t mean that it’s all Komaeda’s fault. He doesn’t have any sort of hold on me. He  _ never did. _ ”

She could see that now. Wrong, wrong,  _ wrong. There was nothing worse that she could be than  _ **_wrong_ ** _ , and now it’d ruined  _ **_everything_ ** _.  _ Sonia Nevermid wasn’t perfect. She’d never been perfect. And that desperate urge to prove to everyone else that she was had completely undone her and everyone around her. 

She didn’t have a family, outside of her husband. The plague took her parents and she hadn’t yet had any children. Her only relative left was Komaeda, and she’d tried to kill him. Her blood. She’d tried to kill her own blood. And all he’d done was try to help Hajime. She’d let him perform and she’d lapped it up just as much as everyone else. How could she have fallen for the--no, the theatrics of it all didn’t  _ matter.  _ It didn’t matter how it happened, just that she was  _ wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong  _ and it was tearing them all to shreds. 

“But...” he trailed off. “Sonia. Sonia, look at me.”

She forced her eyes up to him. You could still see his freckles. He let go of Komaeda and came towards her, his gaze softening. He wrapped her in a hug and she collapsed into it, breaking every rule she’d ever set for herself and beginning to sob into his shoulder, tears leaking through to where the fateful werewolf bite lay. 

“I am  _ so  _ sorry, Hajime,” she blubbered, gripping tight enough onto him that it felt like she might never let go. He hugged her back just as hard, enveloping her in his endless warmth. “I--I was wrong, and I ruined everything.”

“You can make it better,” he said kindly, the anger melting from his voice. “Yes, you hurt me. Yes, you hurt him. But we can make it better. All you were doing was trying to help. I...I’m not going to forgive you right away. But let me  _ go,  _ Sonia. Let me do what I need to do to keep all of you safe…” he flushed. “...let me be with the one I love for a little while. It’s all going to be alright, soon enough. We can fix this.”

“I… _ damn it, Hajime,  _ I  _ cannot  _ be wrong. Everyone relies on me to be--”   
  


“Shh. You don’t have to be right all the time. Nobody expects you to be perfect. You’re a person, just like us. You made mistakes, I made mistakes, Nagito made mistakes...we all did. We  _ all  _ did.” 

She pulled back, looking up at him with a trembling lip. They’d all made mistakes--but--

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop,” he said firmly, settling his hands on her shoulders. “Yes, everything is a little messed up right now. But that’s not all on you, and I’m not about to let you beat yourself to hell and back for it. Just...all you have to do is let me go. I’m not gone forever. I’ll come visit when I can. I’ll come home when I’m ready to come home. NO more fights, no more stabbing.”

“You were in a collar,” she said flatly. “A collar, Hajime.”

“I know. And I wasn’t the first one here to go through that. It’s  _ going to be alright, Sonia.  _ Listen to me. All you have to do is listen to me.”

She nodded mutely. “I still don’t like this very much.”

“You don’t have to. Just...have a little faith, alright?” His arms fell away and he fell back, stepping back next to Komaeda. “It’s…” he sighed. “It’s all going to be alright. You know I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

Her stomach was an endless, roiling sea. She’d ruined everything, well and truly. But she’d done it to protect him, someone who didn’t need protecting. She closed her eyes and let the sea take her, washing her out to God knew where.

Until a voice, a different voice, broke through.

“Niece.”

She stared at the extended hands, still in their leather riding gloves. 

“Why are you letting this go so easily?” she asked--she couldn’t help herself. She’d  _ stabbed him.  _ “I--I have done so many things to you--all things considered, I still find it hard to trust you--”

“We’re family, aren’t we?” His gaze was so soft and warm. Like her father’s. Almost identical, actually. “I would like to mend what little we have.”

And to everyone’s surprise--even her own--it was  _ her  _ to throw her arms around him, hugging him so tight that his bones cracked. “Uncle.” It was different than before. Almost like...she could really use it for him. It wasn’t a swipe at their shared blood. More...an appreciation of it.

“Niece. We’ll figure this all out. I promise.”

She broke back from him, clearing her throat, wiping her eyes, smoothing out her skirt. If she was to do this, she had to do it now. This was how it was all fixed. No more fights. No more yelling. No more tearing people away. No more vampire heads. 

She took a shaky, shaky breath. It was time to make amends. “Treat him well.”

Hajime’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at her, dumbfounded. “Sonia…”

“Come visit at least once a month. Please. Just so we know you’re alright. I will not interfere, but...I would like to know how you are doing, Hajime. No more vanishing in the night.”

He nodded. “...thank you.” He ushered everyone else in, closing the door behind them. “I think we have some things to talk about, first. Nagito?”

“Yes, love?”

“Set the table for six.” He turned back--there was still flour in his hair and the beginning of a smile on his face. Just like before. “You all came at a good time--I can make enough for everyone. Chiaki--”

Before he could finish, Chiaki lunged forward and tackled him in a hug, sending them both careening into the floor. 

“Don’t you  _ ever  _ leave and only just leave a note again. You don’t leave until I say goodbye. Got it?” 

“Yeah--yeah, I got it,” he said good-naturedly. “So are you going to help me with dinner, or what?”

“What are we making?”

“...soup?”

“Jesus Christ, yes, I’m going to help you.” She pulled him up and dragged him into the kitchen, pointing at Komaeda as he went. “Don’t let Hajime cook. He’s terrible at it.”

“Better or worse than how he makes tea?”

_ “Worse.”  _

Sonia collapsed onto the couch as the small cabin bustled around her, Komaeda and Ryota clearly engaging in a serious, private conversation once the table was set. Hajime and Chiaki got to work cooking, the smell of meat stew slowly filling the entire house. 

Gundham came down and sat next to her, pulling her close. She laid her head on his shoulder, sighing and melting into her husband. 

“It’s going to be quite alright, my beloved,” he whispered to her, lacing their hands together. “You can fix this. Being a good leader is knowing when you’re wrong, is it not?”

“I was never supposed to be wrong at all.”

He chuckled. “You’re human. You don’t have to be perfect all the time--that is for those who operate beyond our plane of reality. And...besides...you have your family back. Some of it, at least.” They took another glance at Komaeda in his blue waistcoat. “My guides tell me that we found the best way to clean things up.” He pulled one of his devas from his pockets--why didn’t it surprise her that he’d brought them? The little hamster chirped happily, running up her arm. “I think you did your best, my love. All it shall take is a little mending...a little time...and quite a bit of listening to the hunter from now on.”

She couldn’t help but sigh as he kissed the top of her head. “I know. But that won’t stop me from feeling guilty.”

“Guilt isn’t inherently an evil thing. And you will learn from this. Your fear will not blind you in the same way in the future...you can rest now, darling. It has pained me to see you lay awake all these nights.”

“I love you,” she mumbled.

“I love you more than life itself.”

Hajime poked his head out of the kitchen. “Food’s ready!”

They all awkwardly found their places and sat, filling in a table that was a little too small for them. In some strange way, it felt like the family meals of Sonia’s past. She hadn’t had one in a very, very long time. 

Food was served, steaming hot and far better than Hajime would have been able to do on his own. The man was talented at many things, but cooking surely wasn't one of them. 

He took his seat, taking Komaeda’s hand under the table.

“So I suppose we should tell you what...actually happened.”

“That would be appreciated, yes.” Sonia took a sip of her wine (a good vintage. The vampire knew his wines, then.). She suspected she was going to need it. “I would love to know how you two got from you being contracted to kill Komaeda, to…” she waved her hand around. “This.”

“Let me start, then,” Komaeda said easily, pouring himself a glass. “Since Hajime doesn’t remember the beginning of it. I was trying to light a fire when I heard a noise behind me…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i hope you enjoyed. I'll have a few special messages for you in the next chapter. thank you for making it this far. know that you are loved, and do your best to take care of yourself today. drink some water, give someone a hug. i love you. 
> 
> -fen <3


	48. heart.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, everyone. as we reach the end of this long, long saga, can we get just a bit serious for a moment? let me just sit down, hand you a juice box, and be honest for a minute. this has been the most difficult period of my life i've ever been in. since early 2020, i've been struggling with my mental health and been caught in an incredibly shifting and turbulent personal life, alongside the entire state of the world at large. I began this fic in a very low place in my life, just wanting something fun for halloween and something that could maybe be a distraction from everything that was going on. obviously, this is so much more than just a little bit of fun for october. while i now have a wonderful support system and am actively recovering (i promise you, it does get better.), this fic was a wonderful constant through it all. 
> 
> i never expected the outpouring of love this fic has received. to everyone who has made all the beautiful art and wrote another work inspired by mine, thank you. it's truly humbling to see that my art has inspired your own. to everyone who left a kudos or comment, thank you. to everyone who just read this, thank you. i never expected to make it to the top 20 komahina fics of all time (holy SHIT guys), and it is a legitimate honor that so many of you have read and enjoyed my story. this was something that i have poured my heart into and has helped me through such a dark place. to receive such constant love and support as i did it will mean more than you ever know. sorry, i'm getting sappy, and this is getting long, but i really mean it. i would never have gotten past ten chapters, much less 48, if it hadn't been for all of you. thank you, thank you, thank you. 
> 
> i won't hold you up any longer. go ahead and read, my darlings.

They all slept peacefully in the small cabin, daylight bothering none of them as they found their places to rest. The curtains were drawn tightly, the fireplace burning low in the warm room. Chiaki had a couch, practically grabbing Ryota and falling asleep on top of him, her head slumped into his shoulder. While he’d intended to just sleep on a chair or the floor, he found that he didn’t much mind sharing the blanket with her. It was the first time he’d been able to sleep in months. Maybe even his dark circles would fade, if he could keep sleeping like this. Gundham and Sonia had the other couch, huddled close under their own throw blanket. Cramped, but they made it work. Hajime and Nagito slept in their own bed, surrounded by black-painted windows and huddled under red sheets and blankets. 

The house felt full and content, like the night of a holiday. The food was eaten, the dishes were cleaned, the stories were shared--and now they went to sleep, exhaustion of the best sort weighing their bodies down.

They’d explained it all, left even the painful parts in. No lies--no omissions. No more theatrics. 

And so they slept under the same roof, new and old knowledge in their heads and strange, conflicting feelings in their guts. 

Hajime was the first to wake up, with the sun still in the sky and warming the room, even through black windowpanes. Cold, pale arms were clasped around him, holding him close. He couldn’t blame Nagito for wrapping himself around him so protectively, making sure that he would still be there when he woke up. 

So he stayed. He could have gotten up and walked around to clear his mind, but the way Nagito seemed nervous when they went to bed, even with everything figured out...he would stay with him for now. He yawned, rolling over so that they were facing each other, their legs tangling up under the blanket. They were going to go home tomorrow. They were going to go home. He didn’t even question calling that castle home--not anymore. 

They could live in peace. He could go back whenever he wanted. Nobody would be worried about his safety. No more fighting. No more worry. No more words stuck in his throat, unable to be forced out when he desperately needed them.

There was warm food in their bellies and no blood had been shed. The sun was shining--it was unseasonably warm. If he went out, he would barely need his cloak. The winter birds chirped happily, building their nests in the buttery light. 

Nagito shifted, opening his eyes softly. 

“Why are you awake, love?”

“Why are  _ you  _ up?” he mumbled, tapping his partner on the nose. “You need to be resting. I thought vampires didn’t wake up during the day.”

“Such misinformation is spread about us. I’m just resting, like you.”   
  


“Then you should rest, silly. You had a long night.”

“And so did you…” he trailed off. “Was it wise, puppy? To tell them everything? I don’t have any doubts that it was necessary...but...everything?”

He reached out and pushed loose white hair back. He almost preferred it when it was down, wild and falling into his face and everywhere it could reach.

“We kept some details private...did I make you say too much?” His brow furrowed. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but...they didn’t trust you. And they deserved the truth.”

“You didn’t make me say anything. I did it willfully; your safety comes first. But…” he pursed his lips. “You told them a lot of painful things, love. I do hope you’re alright.” 

He sighed good-naturedly, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. He tasted just a little bit like iron--Hajime was starting to think he rather liked it. “You’re quite the worrier, aren’t you?”

“I’m always going to worry over my pet,” he said softly, returning the kiss. “You are quite dear to me by now. You do know that I love you, right?”

“I love you, too.” Nobody was going to tear them apart again. No more knives hidden in sleeves, no more locked doors and frantic horseback rides that he could barely remember. No more angry, explosive fights. Not with Nagito, not with Sonia, not with anyone.

They were going to be alright. (Everyone had been saying it, through this whole ordeal. But this was the first time he truly believed it.)

His parents were resting peacefully, properly avenged. The one who’d done it laid silently in an unmarked grave in the woods. Twice, the man had forever changed the course of his life. He wondered if Kamukura...that was what Nagito had called him, right? He wondered if Kamukura had recognized him, recognized the man that had come from the terrified, crying little boy all those years ago. But at the end of day, did it really matter? He was dead. He was dead, and Hajime was here, in the arms of the man he loved.

Nagito wasn’t a monster. He never had been. And neither was Hajime. They were really...at the end of it all...just people. Just people, with their own curses to bear and their own lives to live. They looked different from everyone else’s, to be sure...but they were still people. 

Hajime was done hunting vampires. 

“I’m very glad I didn’t kill you.”

“Such a smooth talker, my puppy is.” He flicked the tip of Hajime’s nose. “And  _ I’m  _ glad I didn’t kill you after I got that collar on you.”

“Hush,” he grumbled, but there was no bite to it. “You should be resting. We have a lot of cleaning up to do up there tomorrow.”

“You need to rest, too. I’ll go to bed when you fall asleep.”

“That’s not fair.”

He smirked, and it was so teasing and familiar that any tension Hajime had kept in his body melted away instantly. “Shall I serenade you to sleep, my darling? Sing you a little song?”

“Maybe if you had your violin.” 

Nagito sat up, grinning gently down at him and lighting a candle. “What if I told you I had one with me?” He stood up, opened the closet door. There was a violin case on the shelf. He pulled it down, opening it up. “Still in tune, too. I checked it while you were resting a few days ago.”

He plucked the strings, pulling out the bow. “I’ll play quietly...but the walls are quite thick. I should know...I restored them, after all.” 

Hajime curled up under the sheets, unable to help but feeling like he was back on that couch in the study, all those nights ago. The injuries had faded to scars, the bruising long having since faded. His shoulder didn’t hurt. His leg hadn’t bothered him in a while. It would still twinge at moments--it likely always would. But that was alright. 

That was alright. 

The tune was soft, and sweet, and melodic. There was nothing melancholy or sour about it, nothing mournful to be found. 

“Are you still going to teach me?” he mumbled, his eyes getting heavier by the moment. Just like before. 

He stopped just for a moment, giving such a small, soft smile. “Of course.”

“Good...you’re the best player I know.”

He sighed and shook his head, sitting down next to him, violin still in hand. “Thank you. Now go to sleep. We have a big day coming...I love you. Sleep well.” He raised the bow to the strings and played, and played, and played. 

“Thank you for coming back for me,” he muttered, his eyes completely closed. In only moments, he’d be asleep. 

“I’m always going to come back for you.” 

-

And so he played, and played, and played. Before long, his eyes were closed and his breathing was even. Hajime was asleep. Nagito lifted the bow and clasped the violin in its case. He was so beautiful, so peaceful when he slept. Everything about him was perfect. 

The violin slotted back into its place. He retook his place in their (their.  _ Their.)  _ bed, holding Hajime close to his chest. He curled up next to him, breathing so sweet and even. A perfect rhythm, its own kind of music. 

They were safe. They were going to be safe together, nobody was coming for them. Nobody would tear them apart anymore. They were safe. They were  _ safe.  _

He stroked Hajime’s hair, savoring his perfect warmth. He smelled like pine and cedar, like the woods he spent so much of his life in. It was so calming, so gentle. 

“Sleep well, puppy.” 

-

They left the next evening. The whole group rode up, just to gather their things and to give Hajime parting words. Ryota hung to the back, nervous and still antsy. How could either side forgive him--so much had happened because of him. So many problems had been caused just because he was too cowardly to keep his mouth shut.

So he waited outside until it was time to go.

As he packed his horse, a hand tapped his shoulder. He flinched-- _ Hajime.  _

“Can I talk to you?”

He nodded, gulping. 

They walked out to a quiet place, just a few feet into the woods.

“So...what do you--”   
  


“I’m not upset with you, Ryota.” 

He almost fainted. “W-what?”

“I wanted you to know that.” He smiled at him, big and genuine. “You did your best. And I’m not going to let you punish yourself for that, alright?”

Another quick motion, and he was wrapped in a hug. “I forgive you. For it all. We all do.”

He collapsed into the hug, gripping tightly on his shirt as he bit back sniffles. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Hinata.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. And...you can call me Hajime, alright?”

He looked up and nodded, wiping his nose. “...alright.”

“Go home with them. And spend some time with Chiaki, okay? She wants to be your friend. It’ll do you no good to stay cooped up in your bookstore all day.”

He nodded a bit more firmly this time, giving him a shaky smile. He could do that much for...Hajime. “Alright.” He stepped back and nodded, doing his best to appear strong. He had a home in Jabberwock, he really did. Whether he felt he deserved it or not, that was where he belonged. “I’ll bring you both up some books.”

“That would be great. See you soon, Ryota.”

-

The hugs were long and rib crushing. Gundham had likely left actual bruises. Hajime waved until his hand was sore at their retreating backs. Nagito stood beside him, hand on his shoulder.

Once they were gone, he took Hajime inside.

“I have a gift for you, love.”   
  


He perked up. “Huh?”

“Close your eyes and open your hands for me.”

“This better not be something strange.”

“Trust me.”

He sighed and did as he was told, opening his hand and closing his eyes.

The shape of what dropped in his palm was unmistakable. A smooth cord--threaded through a keyhole. The metal was cold in his hands as he opened his eyes and stared down at it. 

“Nagito--” He smiled at Hajime, placing a hand on his face, stroking his cheekbone. 

“That key is yours. Do with it as you will.”

He stared at it for a second, then nodded. “Alright.” 

Hajime took a deep breath and took it in his hands, slinging it back around Nagito’s neck. His eyes widened and he took a step back, visibly confused. “Puppy, wh--”

“It’s mine to do with as I please,” he shrugged. “And I trust that you’ll take better care of it than I will. You’re good at taking care of me. I trust you...love.”

There was blood swirling in his eyes. “Hajime…”

Their mouths crashed together and it was good, it was sweet, it felt so perfect and like forever was compressed into one, lovely moment. Nagito took him by the waist, lifting him up and twirling him around. 

His strength was calming, now. Nagito would protect him. And Hajime would protect him back. Something just told him that this was right. This was fate. 

“Thank you, my love. For everything. I...think I had lost some things along the way. You reminded me what being human was."

Hajime grinned, never wanting to let him go. This was perfect, this was endless, and this was  _ safe. _ “Thank you, Nagito. For _showing_ me what being human is _." _

Red tears slipped down Nagito's face as he smiled sweetly at Hajime, looking like he never wanted to let him go. 

It really, really had all ended up being alright.

He took Nagito's hand. "Let's go. I think we have some cleaning up to do.”

“By all means, lead the way.”

_ _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i hope you enjoyed. thank you once more for making it to the very end of this very long fic. i already left an essay in the first note, so i'll keep it short here. please know that you are loved, you are cherished, you are adored. the world is a better place with you in it. i hope you see yourself the way i see you. you are beautiful and you have so many good things in store. i wish you all the very best, no matter what. 
> 
> with all the love in the world,  
> fen. <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Wolfblood](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26940262) by [Creativecutieness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creativecutieness/pseuds/Creativecutieness)
  * [Fetched](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29654373) by [revletos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/revletos/pseuds/revletos)




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